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Class //j/fn^ ^ 
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CopyrightN". 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 



/ 



/7' J> 



^^3i 



THE 



GOLDEN TREASUEY 



OF THE 



BEST SONGS AND LYRICAL POEMS 



IN THE 



ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 




SELECTED AND ARRANGED, WKPH NOTES, BY 

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE, 

FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD. 

WITH A CONTINUATION, EMBRACING 

Mtttm» ixom i\u mot\t$ at §m\\t mxiX pviuo 

EDITED BY 

JOHN FOSTER KIRK. 



ILLUSTRAl'ED. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 

18 95. 




\-. <=xv> 







Copyright, 1883, by J. B. Lippintott & Co. 



Copyright, 1894, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U. S. A. 



co:nte]sts. 



Preface to this Edition 

Dedication 

Preface 

Book I. 

Book II. 

Book III. 

Book IV. 

Book V. 

Notes . 

Index of Writer 

Index of First Lines 



1 

41 
107 
166 
340 
425 
443 
447 



edpe-^v irepov i(p^ iripo) 
alpop.s'joq aypsuix a'^dimv 



PEEFAOE TO THIS EDITIOK 



No anthology in the English language has so commended and 
endeared itself to lovers of the best poetry as Mi*. Palgrave's well- 
named "Golden Treasury." Few poems are omitted from it which 
readers of taste and discrimination, having regard to the princi- 
ples on which the selection was made, would wish to have seen 
included ; and the number is still smaller of the poems contained 
in it which the most rigorous judgment would venture to remove. 
Its merits in this respect are enhanced by the skill and nice per- 
ception shown in the arrangement, the result being not alone the 
pleasure which the reader may derive from the high and varied 
qualities of the separate poems, or the instruction to be gained 
from a comparison of the productions of different schools and 
epochs, but a gratification of the sense of harmony akin to that 
which is felt in the contemplation of an artistic masterpiece, an 
organic whole. 

The "Golden Treasurj^" was published in 18G0, and no addi- 
tions have since been made to it. It contains nothing written by 
poets then living, and, consequently, scarcely anything of a later 
date than 1830. The Fourth Book begins and ends with the 
epoch which owes its distinctive character to the poetry of 
Wordsworth more than to that of any of his great contempora- 
ries, all of whom he both preceded and survived, and all of whom, 
in influence at least, he surpassed. In the interval that has since 
elapsed some poets of distinction have died, others have passed the 
period of spontaneous and vigorous production, and, though many 
new writers have sprung up and the poetry of the present day is 
probably greater in quantity and maintains a generally higher 
level than that of any foi'mer period, the lack of superlative ex- 
cellence and of fresh impulses is too evident to allow of any doubt 



vi PREFACE TO THIS EDITION. 

as to the decadence which has supervened. Within the last half- 
centuiy the school of which Tennjson is the acknowledged head 
has risen to maturity and fallen into decay. 

It has been thought, therefore, that gleanings from the lyrical 
poetry of this epoch might now be fitly added to the sheaves of 
the '' Golden Treasury," thus giving to the book that complete- 
ness the want of which has been its sole deficiency. This task 
has been undertaken by the writer not without many misgivings, 
a strong sense of its delicacy and difficulty, and a sincere wish 
that it had been intrusted to more competent hands. To make 
any addition to a structure almost faultless in its style and pro- 
portions is always a presumptuous attempt, and in the present 
instance there was the further danger that the material itself 
might prove inferior to that of the original. No one can feel 
any certainty as to how much of the poetiy of his own day will 
hereafter take rank v/ith that which has already triumphed over 
chance and time, and even where there is no pretence of antici- 
pating the verdict of posterity it would be idle to assume a concur- 
rence of judgment on the part of contemporaries. In the case of 
one writer, it is true, this consensus may be said to exist. Mr. 
Tennyson, by common accord, holds a place among the masters 
of the art. His poetry is the splendid bridge that connects our 
epoch with the more brilliant one that immediately preceded it, 
for, while preserving the traditions of the past, it has voiced the 
aspirations and spoken with the accents of the present. Happily, 
too, for the purposes of this collection, his genius is essentially 
lyrical, and the abundance and variety of its productions left only 
one difficulty, — that of deciding what to reject. No such confi- 
dence could be felt in regard to a writer who has, indeed, no living 
rival in grasp and vigor of thought, subtlety of insight, and origi- 
nality of method and expression, but who, far from conforming 
to traditions, runs athwart them all, mixing melody with discords, 
luxuriance of diction and imagery with colloquial abruptness and 
baldness, and showing in general a ruthless disregard of that per- 
fection of form which is among the distinctive aims of art. In 
selecting from among the poems of Mx'. Browning that were 
otherwise suitable for this collection those which seemed to com- 
bine the most beaut}^ with ihe fewest defects, the writer has in- 



PREFACE TO THIS EDITION. vii 

dulged the hope that the setting they receive by being interspersed 
among others, similar in subject and spirit, though different in 
tone, may aid in extending the knowledge and appreciation of his 
works. 

Among recent and living English poets are some of undeniably 
high gifts who are not represented in this volume, and others of 
whom the specimens inserted are either not such as to give an 
adequate idea of their peculiar powers or too few to be thought 
proportionate to their standing. Among the former are Sir Henry 
Taylor and Mr. William Morris, whose scanty Ija-ical effusions 
serve only to show how little congenial to them was this species of 
composition. Among the latter are Mrs. Browning, whose fervid 
imagination and passionate spirit were seldom saved from griev- 
ous excesses and mishaps except when held in check by the noble 
restrictions of the sonnet ; Mr. Swinburne, whose passion easilj^ 
becomes hysterical, whose fancy lacks the equipoise of reason, and 
whose mai'vellous singing faculty is too often less suggestive of the 
gushes of the lark or the trills of the nightingale than of the cease- 
less hum of the spinning-wheel ; and Mr. D. G. Eossetti, whose 
minute elaboration of dainty conceptions and vei-bal effects con- 
tinually robs his verse of that charm of spontaneity and vigor 
without which poetry can neither touch the heart nor satisfy the 
intellect. 

In the multitude of minor poets there are many who could 
justl}^ claim a place in any collection designed to represent the 
artistic achievements and characteristics of the age. But this ob- 
ject, except as subordinate and incidental, would have been for- 
eign to the original plan of the work, a close adherence to which, 
in spirit and scope, was the guiding principle on which the selec- 
tion has been made and is that by which it should be judged. 
In a careful and conscientious search among a great mass of 
poetry, much of it striking and admirable of its kind, little was 
found — far less than had been anticipated — combining the quali- 
ties on which it was necessary to insist. Mistakes of judgment 
have no doubt been made, but these are of moment only where 
they have led to the admission of what should properly have been 
rejected. It has often been said that a high degree of technical 
excellence in conjunction with poverty of thought is chai'acter- 



viii PREFACE TO THIS EDITION. 

istic of the general mass of poetry produced by the writers of our 
day. Yet, surely, what one most often misses even in the chief 
poets of the time is that large utterance of the early masters 
which gave not only clearness to the deepest thought, but po- 
tency to the simplest. 



Note. — It need scarcely be said that the Four Books of the " Golden Treasury" are 
here reprinted entire and without interpolations, or any change except the correction 
of typographical errors, which includes the insertion of an omitted line in AVords- 
worth's " Ode on the Intimations of Immortality." Three poems by writers not living 
when the work was first issued have been inserted in the Fifth Book. These are 
Blanco White's sonnet on " Night and Death" and Leigh Hunt's sonnet on " The Nile" 
and his " Abou Ben Adhem." Blanco White wrote no poetry besides his famous sonnet, 
and Leigh Hunt's death occurred shortly before the publication of Mr. Palgrave's work. 
It is possible that these circumstances may have been the cause of his omitting these 
poems. 



TO ALFRED TENNYSON, 

POET LAUREATE. 



This book in its progress has recalled often to my memory a man with whose friend- 
ship we were once honored, to whom no region of English Literature was unfamiliar, 
and who, whilst rich in all the noble gifts of Nature, was most eminently distinguished 
by the noblest and the rarest, — just judgment and high-hearted patriotism. It would 
have been hence a peculiar pleasure and pride to dedicate what I have endeavored to 
make a true national Anthology of three centuries to Henry Hallam. But he is beyond 
the reach of any human tokens of love and reverence; and I desire therefore to place 
before it a name united with his by associations which, whilst Poetry retains her hold 
on the minds of Englishmen, are not likely to be forgotten. 

Your encouragement, given while traversing the wild scenery of Treryn Dinas, led 
me to begin the work ; and it has been completed under your advice and assistance. 
For the favor now asked I have thus a second reason ; and to this I may add, the 
homage which is your right as Poet, and the gratitude due to a Friend, whose regard 
I rate at no common value. 

Permit me then to inscribe to yourself a book which, I hope, may be found by many 
a life-long fountain of innocent and exalted pleasure; a soui-ce of animation to friends 
when they meet; and able to sweeten solitude itself with best society, — with the com- 
panionship of the wise and the good, with the beauty which the eye cannot see, and 
the music only heard in silence. If this Collection proves a storehouse of delight to 
Labor and to Poverty, — if it teaches those indifferent to the Poets to love them, and 
those who love them to love them more, — the aim and the desire entertained in framing 
it will be fully accomplished. 

F. T. P. 
May, 1861. 



PEEFAOE. 



This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others in the 
attempt made to include in it all the best oi'iginal Lyrical pieces 
and Songs in our language, by writers not living, — and none 
beside the best. Many familiar verses will hence be met with ; 
many also which should be familiar : — the Editor will regai'd as 
his fittest readers those who love Poetry so well that he can offer 
them nothing not already known and valued. 

The Editor is acquainted with no strict and exhaustive de^ni- 
tion of Lyrical Poetrj', but he has Ibund the task of practical de- 
cision increase in clearness and in facility as he advanced Avith 
the work, whilst keeping in view a few simple principles. Lyri- 
cal has been here held essentially to imply that each Poem shall 
turn on some single thought, feeling, or situation. In accoi'dance 
with this, narrative, descriptive, and didactic poems, unless ac- 
companied by rapidity of movement, brevity, and the coloring of 
human passion, have been excluded. Humorous poetry, except 
in the very unfrequent instances where a truly ])oetical tone per- 
vades the whole, with what is strictly personal, occasional, and 
religious, has been considered foreign to the idea of the book. 
Blank vei'se and the ten-syllable couplet, with all pieces markedly 
dramatic, have been rejected as alien from what is commonly un- 
derstood by Song, and rarely conforming to Lyrical conditions in 
treatment. But it is not anticipated, nor is it possible, that all 
readers shall think the line accurately drawn. Some poems, as 
Gray's Elegy, the Allegro and Penseroso, Wordsworth's Euth or 
Campbell's Lord Ullin, might be claimed with perhaj^s equal jus- 
tice for a narrative or descriptive selection ; whilst with reference 
especially to Ballads and Sonnets, the Editor can only state that 



xii PREFACE. 

he has taken his utmost pains to decide without caprice or 
partiality. 

This also is all he can plead in regard to a point even more 
liable to question : what degree of merit should give rank among 
the Best? That a Poem shall be worthy of the writer's genius, — 
that it shall reach a perfection commensurate with its aim, — that 
we should require finish in proportion to brevity, — that passion, 
color, and originality cannot atone for serious imperfections in 
clearness, unity, or truth, — that a few good lines do not make a 
good poem, — that popular estimate is serviceable as a guide-post 
more than as a compass, — above all, that Excellence should be 
looked for rather in the Whole than in the Parts, — such and other 
such canons have been always steadily regarded. He may. how- 
ever, add that the pieces chosen, and a far larger number rejected, 
have been carefully and repeatedly considered ; and that he has 
been aided throughout by two friends of independent and exer- 
cised judgment, besides the distinguished person addressed in the 
Dedication. It is hoped that by this procedure the volume has 
been freed from that one-sidedness which must beset individual 
decisions; but for the final choice the Editor is alone responsible. 

It would obviously have been invidious to apply the standard 
aimed at in this Collection to the Living. Nor, even in the cases 
where this might be done Avithout offence, docs it appear wise to 
attempt to anticipate the verdict of the Future on our contempo- 
raries. Should the book last, poems by Tennyson, Bryant, Clare, 
Lowell, and others will no doubt claim and obtain their place 
among the best. But the Editor trusts that this will be effected 
by other hands and in days far distant. 

Chalmers's vast collection, with the whole works of all accessi- 
ble poets not contained in it, and the best Anthologies of different 
periods, have been twice sj'stematically read through, and it is 
hence improbable that any omissions which may be regretted ai'e 
due to oversight. The poems are printed entire, except in a very 
few instances (specified in the notes) where a stanza has been 
omitted. The omissions have been risked onl}' when the piece 
could be thus brought to a closer lyrical unity ; and, as essentially 
opposed to this unity, extracts, obviously such, are excluded. In 
regard to the text, the purpose of the book has appeared to justify 



PR EFA CE. X i i i 

the choice of the most poetical version wherever more than one 
exists ; and much labor has been given to present each poem, in 
disposition, spelling, and punctuation, to the greatest advantage. 

For the permission under which the copyright pieces are in- 
serted thanks are due to the respective Proprietors, without 
whose liberal concuri'ence the scheme of the collection would 
have been defeated. 

In the arrangement the most poetically-effective order has been 
attempted. The English mind has passed through phases of 
thought and cultivation so various and so opposed during these 
three centuries of Poetry, that a rapid passage between Old and 
New, like rapid alteration of the eye's focus in looking at the 
landscape, will always be wearisome and hurtful to the sense of 
Beauty. The poems have been therefore distributed into Books 
corresponding, I., to the ninety years closing about 1616 ; II., 
thence to 1700; III., to 1800; IV., to the half-century just ended. 
Or, looking at the Poets who more or less give each portion its 
distinctive character, they might be called the Books of Shake- 
speare, Milton, Gray, and Wordsworth. The volume in this re- 
spect, so far as the limitations of its range allow, accurately re- 
flects the natural growth and evolution of our Poetry. A rigidly 
chronological sequence, however, rather fits a collection aiming 
at instruction than at pleasure and the Wisdom which comes 
through Pleasure : within each book the pieces have therefore 
been arranged in gradations of feeling or subject. The develop- 
ment of the symphonies of Mozart and Beethoven has been here 
thought of as a model, and nothing placed without careful con- 
sideration. And it is hoped that the contents of this Anthology 
will thus be found to present a certain unity, " as episodes," in 
the noble language of Shelley, " to that great Poem w^hich all 
poets, like the co-operating thoughts of one great mind, have 
built up since the beginning of the world." 

As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he may add 
without egotism that he has found the vague general verdict of 
popular Fame more just than those have thought who, with too 
severe a criticism, would confine judgments on Poetry to "the 
selected few of many generations." Not many appear to have 



xiv PREFACE. 

gained reputation without some gift or performance that in due 
degree deserved it ; and if no verses by certain writers who show 
less strength than sweetness, or more thought than mastery in 
expression, are printed in this volume, it should not be imagined 
that they have been excluded without much hesitation and re- 
gret, — far less that they have been slighted. Throughout this 
vast and pathetic array of Singers now silent few have been hon- 
ored with the name Poet, and have not possessed a skill in words, 
a sympathy with beauty, a tenderness of feeling, or seriousness 
in reflection, which render their works, although never perhaps 
attaining that loftier and finer excellence here required, better 
worth reading than much of what fills the scanty hours that most 
men spare for self-improvement or for pleasure in any of its more 
elevated and permanent forms. And if this be true of even medi- 
ocre poetry, for how much more are we indebted to the best ! 
Like the fabled fountain of the Azores, but with a more various 
power, the magic of this Art can confer on each period of life its 
appropriate blessing: on early years Experience, on maturity 
Calm, on age Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures " more golden 
than gold," leading us in higher and healthier ways than those 
of the world, and interpreting to us the lessons of Nature. But 
she speaks best for herself. Her true accents, if the plan has 
been executed with success, may be heard throughout the foUow- 
ino- pages ; wherever the Poets of England are honored, Avherever 
the dominant language of the world is spoken, it is hoped that 
they will find fit audience. 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY 



OP 



SONGS AND LYRICS. 



BOOK FIRST. 



I. 
M SPEING. 



Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king ; 
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, 
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 

The palm and may make country houses gay, 
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay. 
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! 

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
Young lovei's meet, old wives a sunning sit, 
In every street these tunes our ears do greet, 
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
Spring ! the sweet Spring ! 

T. Nash. 



II. 

SUMMONS TO LOVE. 

Phoebus, arise! 

And paint the sable skies 

With azure, white, and red : 

Eouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, 

That she may thy career with roses spread : 

1 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The nightingales thy coming each where sing: 

Make an eternal spring ! 

Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; 

Spread forth thy golden hair 

In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 

And emperor-like decore 

With diadem of pearl thy temjjles fair : 

Chase hence the ugly night 

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. 

— This is that happy morn, 

That day, long-wished day 

Of all my life so dark, 

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn 

And fates my hopes betraj'",) 

Which, purely white, deserves 

An everlasting diamond should it mark. 

This is the morn should bring unto this grove 

My Love, to hear and recompense my love. 

Pair King, who all preserves. 

But show th}'^ blushing beams, 

And thou two sweeter eyes 

Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 

Did once thy heart surprise. 

Now, Plora, deck thyself in fairest guise : 

If that ye winds would hear 

A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre. 

Your furious chiding stay ; 

Let Zephyr only breathe, 

And with her tresses play. 

— The winds all silent are, 

And Phoebus in his chair 

Ensaffroning sea and air 

Makes vanish every star : 

Night like a drunkard reels 

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels : 

The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue, 

The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue ; 



BOOK FIRST. 



Here is the pleasant place — 

And nothing wanting is, save She, alas ! 

W' Drummond of Hawthornden. 



TIME AND LOVE. 



"When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age ; 
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, 
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 

When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
And the firm soil win of the watery main, 
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; 

When I have seen such interchange of state. 
Or state itself confounded to decay, 
Euin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
That Time will come and take my Love away : 

— This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 

W. Shakespeare. 



IV. 

2. 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 
But sad mortality o'ersways their power, 
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea. 
Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

O how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
When rocks impregnable are not so stout 
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays ? 

O fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ? 
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, 
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 

O ! none, unless this miracle have might. 

That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 

W. Shakesj^are. 



V. 

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 

Come live with me and be my Love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

There will we sit upon the rocks 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 
And a thousand fragrant posies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 

A gown made of the finest wool. 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 
Fair lined slippers for the cold. 
With -buckles of the j^urest gold. 



BOOK FIRST. 

A belt of straw and ivy buds 
With coral clasps and amber studs : 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Como live with me and be my Love. 

Thy silver dishes for thy meat 
As precious as the gods do eat, 
Shall on an ivory table be 
Prepared each day for thee and me. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May morning : 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me and be my Love. 

C. Marlowe. 

VI. 

A MADRIGAL. 

Crabbed Age and Youth 

Cannot live together : 

Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age is full of care; 

Youth like summer morn. 

Age like winter weather, 

Youth like summer brave, 

Age like winter bare : 

Youth is full of sport. 

Age's breath is short, 

Youth is nimble, Age is lame : 

Youth is hot and bold, 

Age is weak and cold, 

Youth is wild, and Age is tame : — 

Age, I do abhor thee, 

Youth, I do adore thee ; 

O ! my Love, my Love is young ! 

Age, I do defy thee — 

O sweet shepherd, hie thee, 

Formethinks thou stay'st too long. 

W, Shakespeare. 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY 



VII. 

Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither I 
Here shall he see 
!No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

"Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

W. Shakespeare. 

VIII. 

It was a lover and his lass. 

With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino ! 
That o'er the green cornfield did pass 
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing hey ding a ding : 

Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

Between the acres of the rye 

These prett}^ country folks would lie : 

This carol they began that hour, 
How that life was but a flower : 

And therefore take the present time 
With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino ! 



BOOK FIRST. 

For love is crowned with the prime 
In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing hey ding a ding : 
Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

W. Shakespeare. 

IX. 

PRESENT IN ABSENCE. 

Absence, hear thou xaj protestation 
Against thy strength, 
Distance, and length ; 
. Do what thou canst for alteration : 
For hearts of truest mettle 
Absence doth join, and Time doth settle, 

"Who loves a mistress of such qualit}'. 
He soon hath found 
Affection's ground 
Beyond time, place, and all mortality. 
To hearts that cannot vary 
Absence is Presence, Time doth tarry. 

B}^ absence this good means I gain, 
That I can catch her. 
Where none can watch her. 
In some close corner of my brain : 
There I embrace and kiss her; 
And so 1 both enjoy and miss her. 

Ano7i. 

X. 

ABSENCE. 

Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
I have no pi'ccious time at all to spend 
Nor services to do, till you require : 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

jSTor dare I chide the world-without-end hour 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
When 3^ou have bid your servant once adieu : 

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
Where you maj" be, or your affairs suppose, 
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
Save, where you are, how happy you make those ;- 

So true a fool is love, that in your will, 
Though yo\x do anything, he thinks no ill. 

W. Shakeftpeare. 



XI. 

How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, 
What old December's bareness everywhere ! 

And yet this time removed was summer's time : 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime. 
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : 

Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 

Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, 

That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 

W. Shakespeare. 



y 



BOOK FIRST. 



XII. 



A CONSOLATION. 



"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate ; 

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
Featured like him, like him with friends possest, 
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least ; 

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
Haply I think on thee — and then my state. 
Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 

For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XIII. 
THE UNCHANGEABLE. 

O never say that I was false of heart, 
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify : 
As easy might I from myself depart 
As fi'om my soul, which in thy breast doth lie; 

That is my home of love ; if I have ranged. 
Like him that travels, I return again, 
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged. 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 



10 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Never believe, though in mj nature reign'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stain'd 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good : 

For nothing this wide universe I call, 
Save thou, my rose : in it thou art my all. 

W. Shakespeare. 

XIV. 

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
For as you were when first your eye I eyed 
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; 

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
In process of the season have I seen, 
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd. 
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. 

Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand, 

Steal fi'om his figure, and no pace perceived ; 

So your sweet hue, w^hich methinks still doth stand, 

Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 

For fear of which, hear this, thou ago unbred, — 
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 

IF. Shakespeare. 

XV. 
DIAPHENIA. 

Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly, 

White as the sun, fair as the lily. 
Heigh ho, how I do love thee ! 

I do love thee as my lambs 

Are beloved of their dams ; 
How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me 1 



BOOK FIRST. 11 

Dlapbenia like the spreading roses, 

That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, 
Fair sweet, how I do love thee ! 

I do love thee as each flower 

Loves the sun's life-giving power ; 
For dead, thy breath to life might move me. 

Diaphenia like to all things blessed 

When all thy praises are expressed, 
Dear jo}^, how I do love thee ! 

As the birds do love the spring, 

Or the bees their careful king : 
Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! 

H. Constable. 

XVI. 

ROSALINE. 

Like to the clear in highest sphere 
Where all imperial glor}^ shines, 
Of selfsame color is her hair 
Whether unfolded or in twines : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow. 
Resembling heaven by every wink ; 
The Gods do fear whenas they glow. 
And I do tremble when I think 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
That beautifies Aurora's face. 
Or like the silver crimson shroud 
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace; 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her lips are like two budded roses 
Whom ranks of lilies neighbor nigh. 
Within which bounds she balm encloses 
Apt to entice a deity : 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 



12 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Her neck is like a stately tower 
Where Love himself iniprison'd lies, 
To watch i'or glances every hour 
From her divine and sacred eyes : 

Heigh ho, iair liosaline ! 
Her paps are centres of delight. 
Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, 
"Where Nature moulds the dew of liffht 
To feed perfection with the same : 

Heigh ho, would she were mine! 

With orient pearl, with ruby red, 
With marble white, Avith sapphire blue, 
Her body every way is fed. 
Yet soft in touch and sweet in view : 

Heigh ho, fair Eosaline ! 
Nature herself her shape admires; 
The Gods are wounded in her sight; 
And Love forsakes liis heavenly fires 
And at her eyes his brand doth light: 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan 
The absence of fair Eosaline, 
Since for a fair there's fairer none, 
Nor for her virtues so divine : 
Heigh ho, fair Eosaline ! 
Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine! 

T. Lodge. 



XVII. 
COLIN. 

Beauty sat bathing by a spring 
Where fairest shades did hide her ; 

The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, 
The cool streams ran beside her. 



BOOK FIRST. 13 



My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye, 

To see what was forbidden : 
But better memory said, fie! 
So vain desire was chidden : — 
Hey nonny nonny O! 
Hey nonny nonny ! 

Into a slumber then I fell, 
When fond imagination 
Seemed to see, but could not tell 

Her feature or her fashion. 
But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, 

And sometimes fall a-wceping, 
So I awaked, as wise this while 
As when I fell a-sleeping : — 

Hey nonny nonny O ! 
Hoy nonny nonny ! 

The Shepherd Tonie. 



XVIII. 

TO HIS LOVE. 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
Eough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date ; 

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd : 

And every fair from fair sometime declines. 

By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd. 

But thy eternal summer shall not fade 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest. 



14 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XIX. 

TO HIS LOVE. 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; 

Then in the blazon of sweet beaut3''8 best 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have exprest 
Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. 

So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes. 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing: 

For we, which now behold these present days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 

W. Shakespeare. 

XX. 

LOVE'S PEEJUEIES. 

On a day, alack the day ! 
Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair 
Playing in the wanton air: 
Throuffh the velvet leaves the wind 
All unseen 'gan passage find ; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 



BOOK FIRST. 15 

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks ma}^ blow ; 

Air, would I might triumph so ! 

But, alack, my hand is sworn 

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : — 

Yow, alack, for youth unmeet : 

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 

Do not call it sin in me 

That I am forsworn for thee : 

Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear 

Juno but an Ethioj)e were, 

And deny himself for Jove, 

Turning mortal for thy love. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XXI. 
A SUPPLICATION. 



Forget not yet the tried intent 
Of such a truth as I have meant ; 
My great travail so gladly spent, 

Forget not yet I 

Forget not 3'et when first began ' . 
The weary life ye know, since whan 
The suit, the service none tell can : 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not yet the great assays, 
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways. 
The painful patience in delays, 

Forget not yet ! 

Forget not ! 0, forget not this, 
How long ago hath been, and is 
The mind that never meant amiss — 
Forget not yet ! 



16 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Forget not then thine own approved 
The which so long hath thee so loved, 
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved — 
Forget not this! 

Sir T. Wyat. 



XXII. 

TO AIJEORA. 

if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, 
And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest, 
Then thou wouldst melt the ice out of thy breast 
And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 

O if ihj pride did not our joys control. 
What world of loving wonders shouldst thou see ! 
For if I saw thee once transform'd in me, 
Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul ; 

Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine, 
And if that aught misehanced thou shouldst not moan 
Nor bear the burthen of thy gi'iefs alone ; 
No, I would have my share in what were thine : 

And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, 
This happy harmony avouM make them none. 
W. Alexander, Earl of Sterling. 



XXIIl. 

TRUE LOVE. 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove : — 



BOOK FIRST. 17 

no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 

It is the star to every wandering bark, 

"Whose worth's unknown, although his height bo taken. 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
"Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom : — 

If this be error, and upon me proved, 

1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

W. Shakesnea7-e. 



•s) 



XXIV. 

A DITTY. 



My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, 
By just exchange one to the other given : 
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. 
There never was a better bargain driven : 
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

His heart in me keeps him and me in one. 
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: 
He loves my heart, for once it was his own, 
I cherish his because in me it bides : 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

Si?- P. Sidney. 

XXV. 

LOVE'S OMNIPEESENCE. 

"Were I as base as is the lowly plain. 
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, 
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain 
Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love. 

2 



18 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Were I as high as Leaven above the plain, 
And you, my Love, as humble and as low- 
As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. 

Were 3'ou the earth, dear Love, and I the skies. 

My love should shine on you like to the sun. 

And look upon j^ou with ten thousand eyes 

Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. 

Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, 
Whereso'er you ai'e, my heart shall truly love you. 

J. Sylvester. 

XXVI. 

CAEPE DIEM. 

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming ? 
O stay and hear! 3'our true-love's coming 

That can sing both high and low ; 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 
Journeys end in lovers' meeting — 

Eveiy wise man's son doth know. 

What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What's to come is still unsure : 
In delay there lies no plentj^, — 
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty ; 

Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
W. Shakespeare. 

XXVII. 
WINTER. 

When icicles hang by the wall. 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 

And Tom bears logs into the hall. 
And milk comes frozen home in pail ; 



BOOK FIRST. 19 

When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl 

Tuwhoo ! 
Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note ! 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

When all around the wind doth blow. 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 

And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; 

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl — 

Then nightly sings the staring owl 
Tuwhoo ! 

Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note ! 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XXVIII. 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
When 3^ellow leaves, or none, or few do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 
Bare ruin'd choirs, whei-e late the sweet birds sang. 

In me thou seest the twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
Which by and by black night doth take away, 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie 
As the death-bed whereon it must expire. 
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by: 

— This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, 
To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 

W. Shakespeare, 



20 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

XXIX. 

REMEMBRANCE. 

"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 

I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh the htck of many a thing I sought, 

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste ; 

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe, 
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. 

Then can I gj-ieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
Which I new pay as if not paid before : 

— But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XXX. 

REVOLUTIONS. 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. 
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Each changing place with that which goes before. 
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 

l^ativity once in the main of light 

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 

And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. 



BOOK FIRST. 

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. 

And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 

W. Shakespeare. 

XXXI. 

Fai'ewell I thou art too dear for my jjossessing, 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: 
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing, 
My bonds in thee are all determinate. 

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 
And for that riches where is my deserving? 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
And so my patent back again is swerving. 

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, 
Or me. to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
Comes home again, on better judgment making. 

Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter; 
In sleep, a king; but waking, no such matter. 

W. Shakespeare. 



■ XXXII. 

THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION. 

They that have power to hurt, and will do none, 
That do not do the thing they most do show, 
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,— 



21 



22 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces, 
And husband nature's riches from expense ; 
They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
Others, but stewards of their excellence. 

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 
Though to itself it only live and die ; 
But if that flower with base infection meet, 
The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 

For sweetest things turn soui-est by their deeds 
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XXXIII. 

THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 

And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say na}^ ! for shame, 
To save thee from the blame 
Of all my grief and grame. 
And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath loved thee so long 
In wealth and woe among? 
And is thy heart so strong 
As for to leave mo thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus. 
That hath given thee my heart 
Never for to depart 
Neither for pain nor smart : 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 



BOOK FIRST. 23 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
And have no moi-e pity 
Of him that loveth thee ? 
Alas ! thy cruelty ! 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

Sir T. Wyat. 



XXXIV. 

THE NIGHTINGALE. 

As it fell upon a day 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasant shade 

Which a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 

Trees did grow and plants did spring, 

Every thing did banish moan 

Save the nightingale alone. 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 

Lean'd her breast against a thorn, 

And there sung the dolefullest ditty 

That to hear it was great pity. 

Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry ; 

Tereu, tereu, by and by : 

That to hear her so complain 

Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 

For her griefs so lively shown 

Made me think upon mine own. 

— Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain, 

None takes pity on thy pain : 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, 

Euthless beasts, they will not cheer thee ; 

King Pandion, he is dead. 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : 

All thy fellow birds do sing, 

Careless of thy sorrowing : 



24 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Even so, poor bird, like thee 
None alive will pity mo. 

R. Bai'nefield. 



XXXV. 



Carc-charmcr Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, 
Relieve my languish, and restore the light; 
With dark forgetting of my care return. 

And let the day be time enough to mourn 
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
Without the torment of the night's untruth. 

Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, 
To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
Never let rising Sun approve you liars 
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow : 

Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, 
And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 

S. Daniel. 

XXXVI. 
MADRIGAL. 

Take, O take those lips away 
That so sweetly were forsworn. 
And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again. 

Bring again — 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 

Seal'd in vain ! 

W. Shakespeare. 



BOOK FIRST. 

XXXVII. 

LOVE'S FAREWELL. 

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, — 
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me ; 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; 

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
And when we meet at any time again. 
Be it not seen in either of our brows 
That we one jot of former love retain. 

Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath. 
When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, 
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death. 
And innocence is closing up his eyes, 

— Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, 
From death to life thou mightst him yet recover ! 

M. Drayton. 



XXXVIII. 

TO HIS LUTE. 

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow 
With thy green mother in some shady grove. 
When immelodious winds but made thee move. 
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. 

Since that dear Voice which did thj sounds approve, 
Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, 
Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above, 
What art thou but a harbinger of woe ? 



25 



26 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, 
But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear; 
Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; 
For which be silent as in woods before : 

Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, 
Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain, 

W. Drummond. 

XXXIX. 

BLIND LOVE. 

O me ! what eyes hath love put in my head 
Which have no correspondence with true sight: 
Or if they have, where is my judgment fled 
That censures falsely what they see aright ? 

If that be fair whereon my false oj^es dote, 
What means the world to say it is not so ? 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's : ISTo. 

How can it ? O how can love's eye be true, 
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? 
No marvel then though I mistake my view : 
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 

O cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me blind. 
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find ! 

W. Shakespeare. 

XL. 

THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS. 

While that the sun with his beams hot 
Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, 
Phil on the shepherd, late forgot, 
Sitting beside a crystal fountain. 



BOOK FIRST. 27 

In shadow of a green oak tree 

XJ^Jon bis pipe this song pUiy'd he : 
Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

So long as I was in your sight 
I was your heart, your soul, and treasure ; 
And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd 
Burning in flames beyond all measure : 

— Three daj^s endured your love to me, 

And it was lost in other three ! 
Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

Another Shepherd you did see 
To whom your heart was soon enchained ; 
Full soon your love was leapt from me, 
Full soon my place he had obtained. 

Soon came a third, your love to win, 

And wo were out and he was in. 
Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for now love. 

Sure you have made me passing glad 
That you your mind so soon removed, 
Before that I the leisure had 
To choose you for my best beloved : 

For all your love was past and done 

Two days before it was begun : — 
Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

Anon. 



28 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

yXLI. 
A RENUNCIATION. 

If women could be fair, and jci not fond, 
Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, 
I would not marvel that they make men bond 
By service long to purchase their good will ; 
But when I see how frail those creatures are, 
I muse that men forget themselves so far. 

To mark the choice they make, and how they change, 
How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan ; 
Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, 
These gentle birds that fly from man to man ; 
Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, 
And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ? 

Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, 
To pass the time when nothing else can please. 
And train them to our lure with subtle oath, 
Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease ; 
And then we say when we their fancy try. 
To play with fools, what a fool was I ! 

E. Vere, Earl of Oxford. 

XLII. 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 

Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude ; 

Thy tooth is not so keen. 

Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly ! 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly I 

This life is most jolly. 



BOOK FIRST. 29 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 

Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 

Though thou the waters warp, 

Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remember'd not. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 

Then heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XLIII. 

MADRIGAL. 

My thoughts hold mortal strife ; 

I do detest my life. 

And with lamenting cries 

Peace to my soul to bring 

Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize ; 

— ^But he, grim, gi'inning King, 

"Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, 

Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, 

Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. 

W. Drummond. 

XLIV. 

DIEGE OF LOVE. 

Come away, come away. Death, 

And in sad cypres let me be laid ; 
Fly away, fly away, breath ; 

I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O prepare it ! 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 



30 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet 

On my black coffin let there be strown ; 
Not a friend, not a friend greet , 

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown ; 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there. 

W. Shakespeare. 



XLV. 
FIDELE. 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
JSTor the furious winter's rages ; 

Thou thy worldl}^ task hast done, 

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages : 

Golden lads and girls all must, 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' the great. 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; 

Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
To thee the reed is as the oak : 

The sceptre, learning, phj^sic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning flash 

ISTor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 

Fear not slander, censure rash ; 

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan : 

All lovers j-oung, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

W- Shakes])ea7'e. 



BOOK FIRST. 31 

XLVI. 
A SEA DIRGE. 

Full fathom five thy father lies : 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes: 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth sutfer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange ; 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark ! now I hear them, — 

Ding, dong, Bell. 

W. Shakespeare. 

XLVII. 
A LAND DIRGE. 

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, 

Since o'er shady groves they hover 

And with leaves and flowers do cover 

The friendless bodies of unburied men. 

Call unto his funeral dole 

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole 

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm 

And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm j 

But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, 

For with his nails he^U dig them up again. 

J. Webster. 

XLVIII. 

POST MORTEM. 

If thou survive my well-contented day 

When that churl Death mj bones with dust shall cover. 

And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover; 



32 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Compare them with the bettering of the time, 
And though they be outstripp'd by eveiy jDen, 
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme 
Exceeded by the height of happier men. 

O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — 

" Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age, 

A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 

To march in ranks of better equipage : 

But since he died, and poets better prove, 
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love." 

W. Shakespeare. 



XLIX. 
THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world, that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell ; 

Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so. 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 

O if, I say, you look upon this verse 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
Do not 80 much as my poor name rehearse, 
But let your love even with my life decay ; 

Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
And mock you with me after I am gone. 

W. Shakespeare. 



BOOK FIRST. 33 



MADRIGAL. 



Tell me where is Fancy bred, 
Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
How begot, how nourished ? 
Reply, reply. 

It is engender'd in the eyes, 
"With gazing fed ; and Fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies : 
Let us all ring Fancy's knell ; 
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
— Ding, dong, bell. 

W. Shakespeare. 



LI. 
CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 

At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid : 

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows. 

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

"With these, the crj-stal of his brow, 

And then the dimple on his chin ; 

All these did my Campaspe win : 

At last he set her both his eyes — 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of me ? 

J. Lijhje. 
3 



34 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 



LII. 

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome daj'", 

With night we banish sorrow ; 
Sweet air blow soft, mount lai-ks aloft 

To give my Love good-morrow ! 
Wings from the wind to please her mind, 

Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; 
Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing, 

To give my Love good-morrow ; 
To give my Love good-morrow 
Notes from them both I'll borrow. 

Wake from thy nest. Robin-red-breast, 

Sing birds in every furrow ; 
And from each hill, let music shrill 
Give my fair Love good-morrow ! 
Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow ! 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
Sing my fair Love good-morrow ; 
To give my Love good-morrow 
Sing birds in every furrow ! 

T. Hey wood. 

LIII. 

PEOTHALAMION. 

Calm was the day, and thi'ough the trembling air 

Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play — 

A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 

Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair ; 

When I (whom sullen care. 

Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 

In princes' court, and expectation vain 

Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 

Like empty shadows, did afllict my brain) 

Walk'd forth to ease my pain 



BOOK FIRST. 35 

Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames ; 

Whose rutty hank, the which his river hems, 

Was painted all with variable flowers, 

And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems 

Fit to deck maidens' bowers. 

And crown their paramours 

Against the bridal day, which is not long: 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

There in a meadow by the river's side 
A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, 
With goodly greenish locks all loose untied 
As each had been a bride ; 
And each one had a little wicker basket 
Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously. 
In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket, 
And with fine fingers cropt full featcously 
The tender stalks on high. 
Of every sort which in that meadow grew 
They gather'd some ; the violet, pallid blue, 
The little daisy that at evening closes, 
The virgin lily and the primrose true : 
With store of vermeil roses. 
To deck their bridegrooms' posies 
Against the bridal day, which was not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

With that I saw two swans of goodly hue 

Come softly swimming down along the lee ; 

Two fairer birds I yet did never see ; 

The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow 

Bid never whiter show, 

Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 

For love of Leda, whiter did appear ; 

Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, 

Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near; 



36 THE GOLDEN TREA&URY. 

So purely white they were 

That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, 
Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare 
To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 
Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, 
And mar their beauties bright 
That shone as Heaven's light 
Against their bridal day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. 

Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill, 
Ban all in haste to see that silver brood 
As they came floating on the crystal flood ; 
Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still 
Their wondering eyes to fill ; 
Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair 
Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem 
Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 
Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team j 
For sure they did not seem 
To be begot of any earthly seed. 
But rather angels, or of angels' breed ; 
Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, 
In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 
The earth did fresh array ; 
So fresh they seem'd as day. 
Even as their bridal day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 



Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 
Great store of flowers, the honor of the field, 
That to the sense did fragrant odors yield. 
All which upon those goodly birds they threw 
And all the waves did strew. 
That like old Peneus' waters they did seem 
When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore 
Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, 



BOOK FIRST. 37 

That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store, 
Like a bride's chamber-floor. 

Two of those nymj)hs meanwhile two garlands bound 
Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 
The which presenting all in trim array, 
Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown'd ; 
Whilst one did sing this lay 
Prepared against that day, 
Against their bridal day, which was not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

"Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament, 

And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 

Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, 

Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content 

Of your love's complement ; 

And let fair "Venus, that is queen of love, 

With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, 

Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 

All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile 

For ever to assoil. 

Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, 

And blessed plenty wait upon 3'our board ; 

And let your bed witli pleasures chaste abound, 

That fruitful issue maj* to you afford 

Which may your foes confound. 

And make your joys redound 

Upon your bridal da}^, which is not long : 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song." 

So ended she ; and all the rest around 

To her redoubled that her undersong. 

Which said their bridal day should not be long: 

And gentle Echo from the neighbor ground 

Their accents did resound. 

So forth those joj'ous birds did pass along 

Adown the lee that to them murmur'd low, 

As he would speak but that he lack'd a tongue, 



38 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Yet did by signs his glad affection show, 
Making his stream run slow. 
And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 
'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 
The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend 
The lesser stars. So thej^, enranged well, 
Did on those two attend, 
And their best service lend 

Against their wedding day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. 

At length they all to merry London came, 

To merr}^ London, my most kindly nurse. 

That to me gave this life's first native source, 

Though from another place 1 take my name, 

An house of ancient fame : 

There when they came whereas those bricky towers 

The which on Thames' broad aged back do ride. 

Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers. 

There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide, 

Till they decay'd through pride ; 

Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 

Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 

Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell. 

Whose want too well now feels my friendless case ; 

But ah ! here fits not well 

Old woes, but joys to tell 

Against the bridal da}", which is not long : 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 

Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder, 

Whose dreadful name late thi'o' all Spain did thunder. 

And Hercules' two pillars standing near 

Did make to quake and fear : 

Fair branch of honoi', flower of chivalry ! 

That fiUest England with th}^ triumphs' fame, 

Joy have thou of thy noble victory. 



BOOK FIRST. 39 

And endless happiness of thine own name 

That promisoth the same ; 

That through thy prowess and victorious arms 

Thy country may be freed from foreign harms, 

And great Eliza's glorious name may ring 

Through all the world, fiU'd with thy Avide alarms 

Which some brave Muse may sing 

To ages following. 

Upon the bridal day, which is not long: 

Sweet Thames ! run softl}^, till I end my song. 

From those high towers this noble lord issuing 
Like i-adiant Hespcr, when his golden hair 
In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 
Descended to the river's open viewing 
With a great train ensuing. 
Above the rest were goodly to be seen 
Two gentle knights of lovelj^ face and feature, 
Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature 
Fit for so goodly stature. 

That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight 
Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright; 
They two, forth pacing to the river's side, 
Eeceived those two fair brides, their love's delight j 
Which, at th' appointed tide, 
Each one did make his bride 
Against their bridal day, which is not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

E. Spenser. 

LIV. 
THE HAPPY HEART. 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 

O sweet^ content ! 
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? 

punishment ! 



40 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 
To add to golden numbers golden numbers ? 
O sweet content ! O sweet sweet content ! 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 

Honest labor bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 

O sweet content ! 
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 

O punishment ! 
Then he that patiently want's burden bears 
No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
O sweet content ! O sweet O sweet content ! 
Woi-k apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
Honest labor bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 

T. Dekker. 



LV. 



This Life, which seems so fair. 

Is like a bubble blown up in the air 

By sj^orting children's breath. 

Who chase it every where 

And strive who can most motion it bequeath. 

And though it sometimes seem of its own might 

Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, 

And firm to hover in that empty height, 

That only is because it is so light. 

— But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 

For when 'tis most admired, in a thought. 

Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. 

W- Drummond. 



BOOK FIRST. 41 

LVI. 

SOUL AND BODY. 

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, 
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 

Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ? 

Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
Buy terras divine in selling hours of dross ; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more : — 

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men. 
And death once dead, thei-e's no more djnng then. 

W. Shakespeare. 



LVII. 
LIFE. 

The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man 

Less than a span : 
In his conception wretched, from the womb 

So to the tomb ; 
Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years 

With cares and fears. 
Who then to frail mortality shall trust, 
But limns on water, or but writes in dust. 

Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, 
What life is best ? 



42 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Courts are but only superficial schools 

To dandle fools : 
The rural parts are turn'd into a den 

Of savage men : 
And where's a city from foul vice so free, 
But maj^ be terni'd the worst of all the three ? 

Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, 

Or pains his head : 
Those that live single, take it for a curse, 

Or do things worse : 
Some would have children : those that have them, moan 

Or wish them gone : 
What is it, then, to have, or have no wife. 
But single thraldom, or a double strife ? 

Our own affections still at homo to please 

Is a disease : 
To cross the seas to any foreign soil, 

Peril and toil : 
Wars with their noise affright us ; when they cease, 

We are worse in peace : — 
What then remains, but that we still should cry 
For being born, or, being born, to die? 

Lord Bacon. 

LVIII. 

THE LESSONS OF NATURE. 

Of this fair volume which we World do name 
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, 
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame, 
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare : 

Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame, 

His providence extending everywhere. 

His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, 

In every page, no period of the same. 



BOOK FIRST.. 43 

But silly v/e, like foolish cliildi-en, rest 
Well pleased with color'd vellum, leaves of gold, 
Fair dangling ribands, leaving what is best, 
On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold; 

Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, 
It is some picture on the margin wrought. 

W. Druimnond. 



LIX. 

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ? 
Is this the justice which on Earth we find ? 
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind ? 
Are these joxxy influences, Powers above ? 

Those souls which Vice's moody mists most blind, 
Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove ; 
And they who thee, poor idol Virtue ! love. 
Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind. 

Ah ! if a Providence doth swaj this all, 

Why should best minds groan under most distress ? 

Or why should pride humility make thrall. 

And injuries the innocent oppress? 

Heavens ! hinder, stop this fate ; or grant a time 
When good may have, as well as bad, their prime! 

W. Drunimond. 



LX. 

THE WORLD'S WAY. 

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry- 
As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 



44 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, 
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, 
And strength by limping sway disabled. 

And art made tongue-tied by authorit}''. 
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, 
And captive Good attending captain 111 : — 

— Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, 
Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. 

W. Shakespeare. 



LXI. 

SAINT JOHN BAPTIST. 

The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, 
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, 
Among that savage brood the woods forth bring. 
Which he more hai'mless found than man, and mild. 

His food was locusts, and Avhat there doth spring, 
With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; 
Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing 
Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 

There burst he forth : All ye whose hopes rely 
On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, 
Eepent, repent, and from old errors turn ! 
— Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his crj'-? 

Only the echoes, which he made relent, 

Eung from their flinty caves, Eepent! Eepent! 

W. Di'ummond. 



BOOK SECOND. 



LXII. 

ODE ON THE MOENING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 

This is the month, and this the happy morn 
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King, 
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, 
Our great redemption from above did bring; 
For so the holy sages once did sing 
That he our deadly forfeit should release, 
And with his Father woi-k us a perpetual peace. 

That glorious Form, that Light unsuifcrable. 

And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty 

Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table 

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 

He laid aside ; and, here with us to be, 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 

And chose with ils a darksome house of mortal clay. 

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 
Afford a present to the Infant God ? 
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain. 
To welcome him to this his new abode, 
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, 
Hath took no print of the approaching light. 
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? 

45 



46 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

See how from far, upon the eastern road, 

The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet : 

O run, prevent them with thy humble ode 

And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; 

Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, 

And join thy voice unto the angel quire 

From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. 



THE HYMN. 

It was the winter wild 

While the heaven-born Child 

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 

Nature in awe to him 

Had doff''d her gaudy trim, 

With her great Master so to sympathize : 

It was no season then for her 

To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 

Only with speeches fair 

She woos the gentle air 

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, 

And on her naked shame, 

Pollute with sinful blame, 

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; 

Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 

Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 

But he, her fears to cease. 

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; 

She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding 

Down through the turning sphere. 

His ready harbinger, 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; 

And, waving wide her myrtle wand, 

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 



BOOK SECOND. 47 

!N"o war, or battle's sound, 

Was heard the world around : 

The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; 

The hooked chariot stood 

TJnstain'd with hostile blood ; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 

And kings sat still with awful eye, 

As if they surely knew their sovi*an Loi-d was by. 

But peaceful was the night 

Wherein the Prince of Light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began: 

The winds, with wonder whist, 

Smoothly the waters kist, 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean — 

Who now hath quite forgot to rave. 

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 

The stars, with deep amaze. 

Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, 

Bending one way their precious influence ; 

And will not take their flight 

For all the morning light, 

Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence ; 

But in their glimmering orbs did glow 

Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. 

And though the shady gloom 

Had given day her room, 

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, 

And hid his head for shame. 

As his inferior flame 

The new-enlighten'd world no more should need ; 

He saw a greater Sun appear 

Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree could bear. 

The shepherds on the lawn 
Or ere the point of dawn 



48 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Sate simply chatting in a rustic row ; 

Full little thought they then 

That the mighty Pan 

Was kindly come to live with them below ; 

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, 

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. 

When such music sweet 

Their hearts and ears did greet 

As never was by mortal finger strook — 

Divinely-warbled voice 

Answering the stringed noise, 

As all their souls in blissful rapture took : 

The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 

Nature that heard such sound, 

Beneath the hollow round 

Of Cynthia's seat the aery region thrilling, 

]^ow was almost won 

To think her part was done, 

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; 

She knew such harmony alone 

Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. 

At last surrounds their sight 

A globe of circular light 

That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd ; 

The helmed Cherubim 

And sworded Seraphim 

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd. 

Harping in loud and solemn quire. 

With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. 

Such music (as 'tis said) 

Before was never made 

But when of old the sons of morning sung, 

While the Creator great 



BOOK SECOND. 49 

His constellations set 

And the well-balanced world on hinges hung; 

And cast the dark foundations deep, 

And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. 

Eing out, ye crystal spheres! 

Once bless our human ears, 

If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 

And let your silver chime 

Move in melodious time; 

And let the base of heaven's deep organ blow ; 

And with your ninefold harmony 

Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. 

For if such holy song 

Enwrap our fancy long, 

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; 

And speckled vanity 

"Will sicken soon and die. 

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould ; 

And Hell itself will pass away. 

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 

Yea, Truth and Justice then 

"Will down return to men, 

Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 

Mercy will sit between. 

Throned in celestial sheen, 

"With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; 

And Heaven, as at some festival, 

"Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. 

But wisest Fate says No ; 
This must not yet be so ; 
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy 
That on the bitter cross 
Must redeem our loss ; 
So both himself and us to glorify : 

4 



50 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep 

The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep ; 

With such a horrid clang 

As on mount Sinai rang 

"While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : 

The aged Earth aghast 

With terror of that blast 

Shall from the surface to the centre shake, 

When at the world's last session. 

The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. 

And then at last our bliss 

Full and perfect is, 

But now begins ; for from this happy day 

The old Dragon, under ground 

In straitcr limits bound, 

Not half so far casts his usurped sway; 

And, wroth to see his kingdom fail. 

Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 

The oracles are dumb ; 

1^0 voice or hideous hum 

Euns through the arched roof in words deceiving : 

Apollo from his shrine 

Can no more divine, 

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving • 

No nightly trance or breathed spell 

Inspires the pale-eyed priest fronr the prophetic cell. 

The lonely mountains o'er 

And the resounding shore 

A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; 

From haunted spring and dale 

Edged with poplar pale 

The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; 

With fiower-inwoven tresses torn 

The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 



BOOK SECOND. 51 

In consecrated earth 

And on the holy hearth 

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint j 

In urns, and altars round, 

A drear and dying sound 

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; 

And the chill marble seems to sweat, 

While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. 

Peor and Baalim 

Forsake their temples dim, 

With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine ; 

And mooned Ashtaroth, 

Heaven's queen and mother both, 

Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn. 

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. 

And sullen Moloch, fled. 

Hath left in shadows dread 

His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 

In vain with cymbals' ring 

They call the grisly king. 

In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 

The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 

Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. 

Nor is Osiris seen 

In Memphian grove, or green. 

Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : 

Nor can he be at rest 

Within his sacred chest ; 

Nought but profoundest bell can be his shroud ; 

In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark 

The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. 

He feels from Juda's land 
The dreaded infant's band ; 



52 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn j 

Nor all the gods beside 

Longer dare abide, 

Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 

Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, 

Can in his swaddling bands conti'ol the damned ci'ew. 

So, when the sun in bed 

Curtain'd with cloudy red 

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 

The flocking shadows pale 

Troop to the infernal jail, 

Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ; 

And the yellow -skirted fays 

Fly after the night- steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. 

But see, the Virgin blest 

Hath laid her Babe to rest ; 

Time is, our tedious song should here have ending : 

Heaven's youngest-teemed star 

Hath fixed her polish' d car. 

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: 

And all about the courtly stable 

Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. 

J. Milton. 



LXIII. 

SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY, 1687. 

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 
This universal frame began : 
When Nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay 
And could not heave her head, 
The tuneful voice was heard from high, 
Arise, ye more than dead ! 



1^^^^^^ 









BOOK SECOND. 53 

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry 
In order to their stations leap. 

And Music's power obey. 
From harmony, from heavenly harmony 

This universal frame began : 

From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
The diapason closing full in Man. 

"What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 
When Tubal struck the chorded shell 
His listening brethren stood around, 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 
To worship that celestial sound. 
Less than a God they thought there could not dwell 
Within the hollow of that shell 
That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 

The trumpet's loud clangor 

Excites us to arms, 
With shrill notes of anger 

And mortal alarms. 
The double double double beat 
Of the thundering drum 
Cries, " Hark ! the foes come ; 
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!" 

The soft complaining flute 

In dying notes discovers 

The woes of hopeless lovers, 
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. 

Sharp violins proclaim 
Their jealous pangs and desperation, 
Fury, frantic indignation, 
Depth of pains, and height of passion 

For the fair disdainful dame. 



54 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

But oh ! what art can teach, 
What human voice can reach 

The sacred organ's praise? 
Notes insj)iring holy love, 
Notes that wing their heavenly ways 

To mend the choirs above. 

Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
And trees uj)rooted left their place 

Sequacious of the \yvQ : 
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: 
When to her Organ vocal breath was given, 
An Angel heard, and sti'aight appear' d — 

Mistaking Earth for Heaven ! 

Grand Chorus. 
As from the power of sacred lays 

The spheres began to move, 
And sung the great Creator's praise 

To all the blest above ; 
So when the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling pageant shall devour. 
The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
The dead shall live, the living die, 
And Music shall untune the sky. 

J. Dryden. 

LXIV. 

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT. 

Avenge, Lord ! thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones 
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold ; 
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, 
When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, 
Forget not : In thy book record their groans 
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roll'd 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 



BOOK SECOND. 55 

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow 
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
The triple tyrant, that from these may grow 
A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, 
Earlj'^ may fly the Babylonian woe. 

J. Milton. 



LXV. 



HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM 

IRELAND. 

The forward youth that would appear 
Must now forsake his Muses dear, 

Nor in the shadows sing 

His numbers languishing. 

'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 
And oil the unused armor's rust, 

Removing from the wall 

The corselet of the hall. 

So restless Cromwell could not cease 
In the inglorious arts of peace, 

But through adventurous war 

Urged his active star: 

. And like the three-fork'd lightning first. 
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, 
Did thorough his own side 
His fiery way divide : 



For 'tis all one to courage high 
The emulous, or enemy; 

And with such, to enclose 
Is more than to oppose. 



56 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Then burning through the air he went 
And palaces and temples rent ; 
And Caesar's head at last 
Did through his laurels blast. 

'Tis madness to resist or blame 
The face of angry heaven's flame ; 
And if we would speak true, 
Much to the Man is due 

Who, from his private gardens, where 
He lived reserved and austere 
(As if his highest plot 
To plant the bergamot), 

Could by industrious valor climb 
To ruin the great Avork of time, 

And cast the Kingdoms old 

Into another mould. 

Though Justice against Fate complain. 
And plead the ancient Rights in vain — 
But those do hold or break 
As men are strong or weak. 

Nature, that hateth emptiness. 
Allows of penetration less, 

And therefore must make room 
Where greater spirits come. 

What field of all the civil war 
Where his were not the deepest scar ? 

And Hampton shows what part 

He had of wiser art, 

Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 
He wove a net of such a scope 

That Charles himself might chase 
To Carisbrook's narrow case ; 



BOOK SECOND. 57 

That thence the Eoyal actor borne 
The tragic scaffold might adorn : 

While round the armed bands 

Did clap their bloody hands : 

V 

He nothing common did or mean 
Uj)on that memorable scene, 

But with his keener eye 

The axe's edge did try ; 

Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, 
To vindicate his helpless right ; 

But bow'd his comely head 

Down, as upon a bed. 

— This was that memorable hour 
Which first assured the forced power: 

So when they did design 

The Capitol's first line, 

A Bleeding Head, where they begun, 
Did fright the architects to run ; 

And yet in that the State 

Foresaw its happj^ fate ! 

And now the Irish are ashamed 

To see themselves in one year tamed : 

So much one man can do 

That does both act and know. 

They can affirm his praises best, 
And have, though overcome, confest 

How good he is, how jiist 

And fit for highest trust ; 

Not yet grown stiffer with command, 
But still in the Republic's hand — 

How fit he is to sway 

That can so well obey ! 



68 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

He to the Commons' feet presents 
A Kingdom for his first year's rents, 
And (what he may) forbears 
His fame, to make it theirs: 

And has his sword and spoils ungirt 
To lay them at the Public's skirt. 
So when the falcon high 
Palls heavy from the sky, 

She, having kill'd, no more does search 
But on the next green bough to perch, 
Where, when he first does lure, 
The falconer has her sure. 

— What may not then our Isle presume 
While victory his crest does plume? 
What ma}^ not others fear 
If thus he crowns each year? 

As Csesar he, ere long, to Gaul, 
To Italy an Hannibal, 

And to all states not free 

Shall climacteric be. 

The Pict no shelter now shall find 
Within his parti-color'd mind, 
But from this valor, sad 
Shrink underneath the plaid — 

Happy, if in the tufted brake 
The English hunter him mistake, 

Nor ly§^ his hounds in near 

The Caledonian deer. 

But Thou, the War's and Fortune's son, 

March indefatigably on ; 
And for the last effect 
Still keep the sword erect : 



BOOK SECOND. 59 

Besides the force it has to fright 
The spirits of the shady night, 

The same arts that did gain 

A power, must it maintain. 

A. Marvell. 



LXVI. 
LYCIDAS. 

ELEGY OX A FRIEND DROWNED IN THE IRISH CHANNEL. 

Y<3t once more, O yo. laurels, and once more, 
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
I come to pluck yowY berries harsh and crude, 
And with forced fingers rude 
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, 
Compels me to disturb your season due : 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer: 
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
He must not float upon his w^atery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Beecin, then, Sisters of the sacred well 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, 
Begin, and somewhat loudly s\veep the string; 
Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : 
So may some gentle Muse 
With lucky words favor my destined urn ; 
And, as he passes, turn 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 

For we Were nursed upon the self-same hill, 
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. 



60 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd 

Under the opening eyelids of the morn, 

We drove a-field, and both together heard 

What time the gray fly winds her sultr}' horn, 

Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 

•Oft till the star, that rose at evening bright, 

Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel 

Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, 

Temper'd to the oaten flute ; 

Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 

From the glad sound would not be absent long; 

And old Daraoetas loved to hear our song. 



But, O the heavy change, noAv thou art gone. 
Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 
And all their echoes, mourn : 
The willows and the hazel copses green 
Shall now no more be seen 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays : — 
As killing as the canker to the rose, 
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze. 
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear 
When first the white-thorn blows ; 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. 

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 
For neither were ye playing on the steep 
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : 
Ay me ! I fondly dream — 

Had ye been there— for what could that have done ? 
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son. 



BOOK SECOND. 61 

Whom universal nature did lament, 
When by the rout that made the hideous roar 
His gory vision down the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? 

Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade 
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? 
Were it not better done, as others use, 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
Or with the tangles of Ncaera's hair ? 
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
(That last infirmity of noble mind) 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze. 
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears 
And slits the thin-spun life. " But not the praise," 
Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears; 
" Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
Nor in the glistering foil 

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies : 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed. 
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." 

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honor'd flood, 
iSmooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds ! 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood : 
But now my oat proceeds. 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Neptune's plea; 
He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, 
What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain ? 
And question'd every gust of rugged wings 
That blows from off each beaked promontory : 
They knew not of his story ; 



62 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

And sage Hippotades their answer brings, 

That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; 

The air was calm, and on the level brine 

Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. 

It was that fatal and perfidious bark 

Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, 

That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 



Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe : 
"Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge !" 
Last came, and last did go 
The pilot of the Galilean lake ; 
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) ; 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : 
"How well could I have spared for thee, j'oung swain, 
Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake 
Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! 
Of other care they little reckoning make 
Than how to sci'amble at the shearers' feast. 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest ; 
Blind mouths ! that scai'ce themselves know how to hold 
A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least 
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs ! 
What recks it them ? What need they ? They are sped ; 
And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; 
The hungry sheep look up and are not fed, 
But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw 
Eot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : 
Besides what the grim wolf with pi'ivy paw 
Daily devours apace, and nothing said : 
— But that two-handed engine at the door 
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 



BOOK SECOND. 63 

Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past 
That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, 
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, 
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks ; 
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes 
That on the green turf suck the lioney'd showers 
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 
The tufted crow-too, and pale jessamine. 
The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, 
The glowing violet, 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. 
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
And every flower that sad embroidery wears : 
Bid amarantus all his beauty shed, 
And daffodillies fill their cups with tears 
To sti^ew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. 
For, so to interpose a little ease, 
Let our frail thoughts dally wnth false surmise ; 
Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
Wash fiar away — where'er thy bones are hurl'd. 
Whether be^'ond the stormy Hebrides 
Where thou perhaps, under the w^helming tide, 
Yisitest the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old. 
Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 
Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold, 
— Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth : 
— And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, 
For Lycidas, 3'our sorrow, is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the water^^ floor; 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed. 



64 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

And yet anon repairs his drooping head 

And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high 

Through the dear might of Him that Avalk'd the waves ; 

"Where, other groves and other streams along, 

With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song 

In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 

There entertain him all the saints above 

In solemn troops, and sweet societies. 

That sing, and singing, in their glory move, 

And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 

Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 

Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore 

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 

To all that wander in that perilous flood. 

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, 
While the still morn went out with sandals gray ; 
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills. 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : 
And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills, 
And now was dropt into the western bay ; 
At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue : 
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 

J. Milton. 



LXVII. 

ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

Mortality, behold and fear ; 

What a change of flesh is here ! 

Think how many royal bones 

Sleep within these heaps of stones ; 

Here they lie, had realms and lands, 

Who now want strength to stir their hands. 



BOOK SECOND. 65 

Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust 

They preach, " In greatness is no trust." 

Here's an acre sown indeed 

With the richest royallest seed 

That the earth did e'er suck in 

Since the first man died for sin : 

Here the bones of birth have cried, 

" Though gods they were, as men they died !" 

Here are sands, ignoble things, 

Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings : 

Here's a world of pomp and state 

Buried in dust, once dead by fate, 

F. Beaumont, 



LXVIII. 
THE LAST CONQUEROR. 

Yictorious men of earth, no more 

Proclaim how wide your empires are ; 

Though you bind-in every shore 
And your triumphs reach as far 

As night or day, 
Yet you, proud raonarehs, must obey 

And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 

Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. 

Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 

Each able to undo mankind, 

Death's servile emissaries are ; 

JSTor to these alone confined. 

He hath at will 
More quaint and subtle ways to kill ; 
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 

J. Shirley. 
5 



66 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

LXIX. 

DEATH THE LEVELLER. 

The glories of our blood and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
There is no armor against fate ; 

Death lays his ic}- hand on kings . 
Sceptre and crown 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field. 

And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield; 
They tame but one another still : 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breath 
When they, pale cajitives, ci*eep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow ; 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon Death's purple altar now 

See where the victor-victim bleeds: 
Your heads must come 
To the cold tomb ; 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 

J. Shirley. 

LXX. 

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY. 

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms. 

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, 

If deed of honor did thee ever j^lease. 

Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 



BOOK SECOND. 67 

He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms 
That call fame on such gentle acts as these, 
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, 
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 

Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower : 

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 

The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 

Went to the ground ; and the repeated air 

Of sad Electra's poet had the power 

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 

J. Milton. 



LXXI. 

ON HIS BLINDNESS. 

When I consider how my light is spent 
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent which is death to hide 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul moi'e bent 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning chide, — " 
Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ? 
I fondly ask : — But Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies; God doth not need 
Either man's work, or his own gifts : who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : His state 

Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest : — 
They also serve who only stand and wait. 

J. Milton. 



68 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

LXXII. 

CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 

How bappy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's will ; 
Whose armor is his honest thought 
And simple truth his utmost skill ! 

Whose passions not bis masters are, 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Not tied unto the world with care 
Of public fame, or private breath ; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise 
Or vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise ; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good : 

Who hath his life from rumors freed, 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
Whose state can neither flatterers food, 
Nor ruin make accusers great ; 

Who God doth late and early pray 
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a well-chosen book or friend ; 

— This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands; 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 

SlrH. Wotton. 



BOOK SECOND. 69 

LXXIII. 

THE NOBLE NATURE. 

It is not growing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make Man better be ; 
Or standing long an oak, thi-ee hundi-ed year, 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night — 
It was the plant and flower of Light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 

B. Jonson. 



LXXIV. 
THE GIFTS OF GOD. 

When God at first made Man, 
Having a glass of blessings standing by ; 
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can : 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 

Contract into a span. 

So strength first made a way ; 
Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honor, pleasure : 
When almost all was out, God made a stay. 
Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, 

Rest in the bottom lay. 

For if I should (said he) 
Bestow this jewel also on my creature, 
He would adore my gifts instead of me, 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature, 

So both should losers be. 



70 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Yet let him keep the rest, 
But keep them with repining restlessness : 
Let him be rich and wearj^, that at least, 
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 

May toss him to my breast. 

G. He7-heri. 



LXXV. 

THE RETREAT. 

Happy those early days, when I 
Shined in my Angel-infancy ! 
Before I understood this place 
Appointed for my second race, 
Or taught my soid to fancy aught 
But a white, celestial thought; 
When yet I had not walk'd above 
A mile or two from my first Love, 
And looking back, at that short space, 
Could see a glimpse of his bright face ; 
When on some gilded cloud or flower 
My gazing soul would dwell an hour, 
And in those weaker glories spy 
Some shadows of eternity ; 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My conscience with a sinful sound, 
Or had the black art to dispense 
A several sin to every sense, 
But felt through all this fleshly dress 
Bright shoots of everlastingness. 

O how I long to travel back. 
And tread again that ancient track ! 
That I might once more reach that plain, 
Where first I left my glorious train ; 
From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees 
That shady City of Palm trees ! 



BOOK SECOND. 71 

But ah! my soul with too much stay 
Is drunk, and staggers in the way ; — 
Some men a forward motion love, 
But I by backward steps would move ; 
And when this dust falls to the urn, 
In that state I came, return. 

H. Vaughan. 

LXXVI. 

TO MR. LAWRENCE. 

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son. 
Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire, 
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire 
Help waste a sullen day, what may be w^on 

From the hard season gaining ? Time will run 
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire 
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire 
The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. 

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice. 
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 
To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice 

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ? 

He who of those delights can judge, and spare 

To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 

J. Milton. 

LXXVII. 

TO CYRIACK SKINNER. 

Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 
Of British Themis, with no mean applause 
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, 
Which others at their bar so often wrench ; — 



72 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 

In mirth, that aflcr no repenting draws ; 

Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, 

And what the Swede intends, and what the P^rcnch. 

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; 
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 

And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
That with superfluous burden loads the day. 
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. 

J. Milton. 

LXXVIII. 
HYMN TO DIANA. 

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, 

Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
Seated in thy silver chair. 

State in wonted manner keep : 
Hesperus entreats thy light, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade 

Dare itself to interpose ; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when daj^ did close : 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of peai'l apart, 

And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 
Give unto the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever : 
Thou that mak'st a day of night. 
Goddess excellently bright ! 

B. Jonson. 



BOOK SECOND. 73 

LXXIX. 

WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS. 

Whoe'er she be, 

That not impossible She 

That shall command my heart and me ; 

Where'er she lie, 

Loek'd up from mortal eye 

In shady leaves of destiny : 

Till that ripe birth 

Of studied Fate stand forth. 

And teach her fair steps to our earth ; 

Till that divine 

Idea take a shrine 

Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 

— Meet you her, my Wishes, 

Bespeak her to my blisses, 

And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 

I wish her beauty 

That owes not all its duty 

To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie : 

Something moi'e than 

Taffata or tissue can. 

Or rampant feather, or rich fan. 

A face that's best 

By its own beauty drest, 

And can alone command the rest : 



74 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

A face made up 

Out of no other shop . 

Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 

Sydneian showers 

Of sweet discourse, whose powers 

Can crown old Winter's head with flowers 



Whate'er delight 

Can make day's forehead bright 

Or give down to the wings of night. 

Soft silken hours, 

Open suns, shady bowers ; 

'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. 

Days, that need borrow 

No part of their good morrow 

From a fore-spent night of sorrow : 

Days, that in spite 

Of darkness, by the light 

Of a clear mind are day all night. 

Life, that dares send 

A challenge to his end, 

And when it comes, say, *' Welcome, friend." 

I wish her store 

Of worth may leave her poor 

Of wishes ; and I wish no more. 

— Now, if Time knows 

That Her, whose radiant brows 

Weave them a garland of my vows ; 



BOOK SECOND. 1^5 

Her that dares be 

What these lands wish to see : 

I seek no further, it is She. 

'Tis She, and here, 

Lo ! I unclothe and clear 

My wishes' cloudy character. 

Such worth as this is 
Shall fix my flying wishes, 
And determine them to kisses. 

Let her full glory. 

My fancies, fly before ye ; 

Be ye my fictions : — but her story. 

R. Crashaw. 



LXXX. 

THE GEEAT ADVENTURER. 

Over the mountains 
And over the waves. 
Under the fountains 
And under the graves ; 
Under floods that are deepest, 
Which ISTeptune obey ; 
Over rocks that are steepest, 
Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lie ; 

Where there is no space 

For receipt of a fly ; 

Where the midge dares not venture, 

Lest herself fast she lay ; 

If love come, he will enter 

And soon find out his way. 



76 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

You may esteem him 

A child for his might ;• 

Or you may deem him 

A coward from his flight ; 

But if she whom love doth honor 

Be conceal'd from the day, 

Set a thousand guards upon her, 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him 
By having him confined ; 
And some do suppose him, 
Poor thing, to be blind ; 
But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 
Do the best that you may. 
Blind love, if so ye call him, 
Will find out his way. 

You may train the eagle 
To stoop to your fist ; 
Or you may inveigle 
The phoenix of the East ; 
The lioness, ye may move her 
To give o'er her prey ; 
But 3^ou'll ne'er stop a lover: 
He will find out his way. 

Anon. 

LXXXI. 

CHILD AND MAIDEN. 

Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 

As unconcei'n'd as when 
Your infant beauty could beget 

]^o happiness or pain ! 
When I the dawn used to admire, 

And praised the coming day, 
I little thought the rising fire 

Would take my rest away. 



BOOK SECOND. 77 

Your chai'nib in harmless childhood lay 

Like metals in a mine ; 
Age from no face takes more away 

Than youth conceal'd in thine. 
But as your charms insensibly 

To their perfection prest, 
So love as unperceived did fl}^, 

And center'd in my breast. 

My passion with your beauty grew, 

While Cupid at my heart 
Still as his mother favor'd you 

Threw a new flaming dart : 
Each gloried in their wanton part ; 

To make a lover, he 
Employ'd the utmost of his art — 

To make a beauty, she. 

Sir C. Sedley. 



/LXXXII. 
COUNSEL TO GIRLS. 

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 

Old Time is still a-flying : 
And this same flower that smiles to-day, 

To-morrow will be dying. 

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 

The higher he's a-getting 
The sooner will his race be run, 

And nearer he's to setting. 

That age is best which is the first. 
When youth and blood are warmer ; 

But being spent, the worse, and worst 
Times, still succeed the former. 



78 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Then be not coy, but use your time ; 

And while ye may, go marry : 
For having lost but once your prime, 

You may for ever tarry. 

R. Herrick. 

LXXXIII. 
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. 

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, 

To war and arms I fly. 

True, a new mistress now I chase, 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith embrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 

As you too shall adore : 
I could not love thee, Dear, so much. 

Loved I not Honor more. 

Colonel Lovelace, 

LXXXIV. 

ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA. 

You meaner beauties of the night. 
Which poorly satisfy our eyes 

More by your number than your light. 
You common people of the skies, — 
What are you, when the Moon shall rise ? 

Ye violets that first appear, 

By your pure purple mantles known, 

Like the proud virgins of the year. 
As if the spring were all your own, — 
What are you, when the Eose is blown ? 



BOOK SECOND. 7^ 

Ye curious chanters of the wood, 

That warble forth dame Nature's lays, 

Thinking your passions understood 

B}^ your weak accents, — what's your praise 
When Philomel her voice doth raise ? 

So when my Mistress shall be seen 

In sweetness of her looks and mind, 
By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 

Tell me, if she were not design'd 

Th' eclipse and glory of her kind ? 

Sir H. Wotton. 



LXXXV. 

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. 

Daughter to that good earl, once President 
Of England's council and her treasury, 
Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, 
And left them both, more in himself content, 

Till the sad breaking of that parliament 

Broke him, as that dishonest victory 

At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty, 

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent ; — 

Though later born than to have known the days 
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you, 
Madam, methinks I see him living yet ; 

So well your words his noble virtues praise, 
That all both judge you to relate them true. 
And to possess them, honor'd Margaret. 

J. Milton. 



80 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

LXXXVI. 

THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE. 

It is not Beauty I demand, 
A crystal brow, the moon's despair, 
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, 
Nor mermaid's yellow pride ol' hair : 

Tell me not of your starry ej^es. 
Your lips that seem on roses fed. 
Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies 
Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed: — 

A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks 
Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, 
A breath that softer music speaks 
Than summer winds a-wooing flowers, 

These are but gauds : nay, what are lips ? 
Coral beneath the ocean-stream, 
Whose brink when your adventurer slips 
Full oft he perisheth on them. 

And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft 
That wave hot youth to fields of blood ? 
Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, 
Do Greece or Ilium any good ? 

Eyes can with baleful ardor burn ; 
Poison can breath, that erst perfumed ; 
There's many a white hand holds an urn 
With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. 

For crystal brows there's nought within ; 
They are but empty cells for pride ; 
He who the Siren's hair would win 
Is mostly strangled in the tide. 



BOOK SECOND. gl 

Give me, instead of Beauty's bust, 
A tender iieart, a loyal mind 
"Which with temj^tation I would trust, 
Yet never link'd with error find, — 

One in whose gentle bosom I 
Could pour my secret heart of woes, 
Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly 
That hides his murmurs in the rose, — 

My earthly Comforter ! whose love 
So indefeasible might be 
That, when my spirit wonn'd above, 
Hers could not stay, for sympatby. 

Arion. 



LXXXVII. 

THE TRUE BEAUTY. 

He that loves a rosy cheek. 

Or a coral lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
As old Time makes these decay. 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 

Hearts with equal love combined. 
Kindle never-dying fires: — 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 

T. Carew. 



82 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

LXXXYIII. 

TO DIANEME. 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 
Which star-like sparkle in their skies ; 
Nor be you proud, that you can see 
All hearts your captives, yours yet free : 
Be you not proud of that rich hair 
Which wantons with the love-sick air; 
Whenas that ruby which you wear, 
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear. 
Will last to be a precious stone 
When all your world of beauty's gone. 

R. Herrick. 



LXXXIX. 

Go, lovely Eose ! 
Tell her, that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows. 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her that's young 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts, where no men abide, 
Thou must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired : 

Bid her come forth, 
Suffer herself to be desired. 
And not blush so to be admired. 



BOOK SECOND. 83 

Then die ! that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee : 
How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair ! 

E. Waller. 

XC. 

TO CELIA. 

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
"^ And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not wither'd be ; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee ! 

B. Jouson. 



/ xci. 

J CHERRY-RIPE. 

There is a garden in her face 

Where roses and white lilies blow ; 

A heavenly paradise is that place, 
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; 

There chei'ries grow that none may buy, 

Till Cherry-Eipe themselves do cry. 



84 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 
Of orient pearl a double row, 

Which when her lovely laughter shows, 
They look like rose-buds fili'd with snow : 

Yet them no peer nor prince may buy. 

Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 

Her eyes like angels watch them still ; 

Her brows like bended bows do stand, 
Thi'eat'ning with piercing frowns to kill 

All that approach with eye or hand 
These sacred cherries to come nigh, 
— Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry ! 

Anon. 



XCII. 

THE POETRY OF DRESS. 
1. 

A sweet disorder in the dress 
Kindles in clothes a wantonness : — 
A lawn about the shoulders thrown 
Into a fine distraction, — 
An erring lace, which here and there 
Enthralls the crimson stomacher, — 
A cuff neglectful, and thereby 
Ribands to flow confusedly, — 
A winning wave, deserving note, 
In the tempestuous petticoat, — 
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 
I see a wild civility, — 
Do more bewitch me, than when art 
Is too precise in every part. 

R. Herrick. 



BOOK SECOND. 85 

XCIII. 

2. 

"Whenas in silks my Julia goes, 

Then, then (raethinks) how sweetly flows 

That liquefaction of her clothes ! 

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
That brave vibration each way free ; 
O how that glittering taketh me! 

R. Herrick. 

XCIV. 



My Love in her attire doth show her wit, 

It doth so well become her : 
For every season she hath dressings fit. 

For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
No beauty she doth miss 

When all her robes are on : 
But Beauty's self she is 

When all her I'obes are gone. 

Ano7i. 

xcv. 
ON A GIRDLE. 

That which her slender waist confined 
Shall now my joyful temples bind: 
No monarch but would give his crown 
His arms might do what this has done. 

It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely deer : 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
Did all within this circle move. 



86 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

A narrow compass ! and jet there 
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair: 
Grivc me but what this riband bound, 
Take all the rest the Sun goes round, 

E. Waller. 

XCVI. 
TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY^ THING, 

Bid me to live, and I will live 

Thy Protestant to be : 
Or bid me love, and I will give 

A loving heart to thee. 

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 

A heart as sound and free 
As in the whole world thou canst find, 

That heart I'll give to thee. 

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, 

To honor thy decree : 
Or bid it languish quite away, 

And 't shall do so for thee. 

Bid me to weep, and I will weep 

While I have eyes to see : 
And having none, yet I will keep 

A heart to weep for thee. 

Bid me despair, and I'll despair, 

Under that cypress tree : 
Or bid ine die, and I will dare 

E'en Death, to die for thee. 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart. 

The very eyes of me. 
And hast command of every part, 

To live and die for thee. 

R. Herrick. 



I 



BOOK SECOND. 37 



XCVII. 

Love not me for comely grace, 
For my pleasing eye or face, 
Nor for any outward part, 
No, nor for my constant heart, — 
For those may fail, or turn to ill, 
So thou and I shall sever: 
Keep therefore a true woman's eye. 
And love me still, but know not why- 
So hast thou the same reason still 
To dote upon me ever ! 

Anon. 



XCVIII. 

Not, Celia, that I juster am 

Or better than the rest ; 
For I would change each hour, like them, 

Were not uxy heart at rest. 

But I am tied to very thee 

By every thought I have ; 
Thy face I only care to see, 

Thy heart I only crave. 

All that in woman is adored 

In thy dear self I find — 
For the whole sex can but afford 

The handsome and the kind. 

Why then should I seek further store, 

And still make love anew ? 
When change itself can give no more, 

'Tis easy to be true. 

Sir C. Sedley. 



88 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

XCIX. 
TO ALTHEA FROM PEISON. 

When Love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
' And my divine Althea brings 

To w^hisper at the grates ; 
When I lie tangled in her hair 

And fetter'd to her eye, 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 



When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses crown'd, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 

When healths and draughts go free — 
Fishes that tipple in the deep 

Know no such liberty. 



When, linnet-like confined, I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty 

And glories of my King ; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be, 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage : 



I 



BOOK SECOND. 89 

If I have freedom in my love 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 

Colonel Lovelace. 



TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS. 

If to be absent were to be 
Away from thee ; 
Or that when I am gone 
You or I were alone ; 
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. 

Though seas and land betwixt us both, 
Our faith and troth. 
Like separated souls, 
All time and space controls : 
Above the highest sphere we meet 
Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet. 

So then we do anticipate 
Our after-fate. 
And are alive i' the skies. 
If thus our lips and eyes 
Can speak like spirits unconfined 
In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. 

Colonel Lovelace. 

\ 

. ENCOUEAGEMENTS TO A LOVER. 

"Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 

Prythee, why so pale ? 
Will, if looking well can't move her. 

Looking ill prevail? 

Prythee, why so pale ? 



90 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 

Prythee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 

Saying nothing do't? 

Prythee, why so mute? 

Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move, 

This cannot take her; 
If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her : 

The D— 1 take her ! 

Sir J. Suckling. 

CII. 

A SUPPLICATION. 

Awake, awake, my Lyre ! 
And tell thy silent master's humble tale 

In sounds that may prevail ; 
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : 

Though so exalted she, 

And I so lowly be. 
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. 

Hark ! how the strings awake : 
And, though the moving hand approach not near, 

Themselves with awful fear 
A kind of numerous trembling make. 

Now all thy forces try ; 

Now all thy charms apply ; 
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 

Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 
Is useless here, since thou art only found 

To cure, but not to w^ound. 
And she to wound, but not to cure. 

Too weak too wilt thou prove 

My passion to remove ; 
Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. 



BOOK SECOND. 91 

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! 
For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
In sounds that will prevail, 
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire; 
All thy vain mirth lay by. 
Bid thy strings silent lie. 
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. 

A. Cowley. 

cm. 

THE MANLY HEART, 

Shall I, wasting in despair. 

Die because a woman's fair ? 

Or my cheeks make pale with care 

'Cause another's rosy are? 

Be she fairer than the day 

Or the flowery meads in May — 

If she be not so to me, 

What care I how fair she be ? 

Shall my foolish heart be pined 

'Cause I see a woman kind ; 

Or a well disposed nature 

Joined with a lovely feature ? 

Be she meeker, kinder, than 

Turtle-dove or pelican — 

If she be not so to me. 

What care I how kind she be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 

Me to perish for her love ? 

Or her merit's value known 

Make me quite forget mine own ? 

Be she with that goodness blest 

Which may gain her name of Best — 
If she seem not such to me. 
What care I how good she be ? 



92 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

'Cause hex fortune seems too high, 
Shall I play the fool and die? 
Those that bear a noble mind 
Where they want of riches find, 
Think what with them they would do 
Who without them dare to woo ; 
And unless that mind I see, 
What care I though great she be? 

Great or good, or kind or fair, 
I will ne'er the more despair ; 
If she love me, this believe, 
I will die ere she shall grieve ; 
If she slight me when I woo, 
I can scorn and let her go ,: 

For if she be not for me, 
What care I for whom she be ? 
G. Wither. 



CIV. 

MEILANCHOLY. 

Hence, all you vain delights, 

As short as are the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly : 

There's nought in this life sweet, 

If man were wise to see't, 

But only melancholy, 

O sweetest Melancholy ! 
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
A look that's fasten'd to the ground, 
A tongue chain'd up without a sound ! 
Fountain heads and pathless groves, 
Places which pale passion loves ! 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed save bats and owls ! 



BOOK SECOND. go 

A midnight bell, a parting groan! 

These are the sounds we I'eod upon ; 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; 
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 

J. Fletcher. 

CV. 

TO A LOCK OF HAIR. 

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright 
As in that well-remember'd night 
When first thy mystic braid was wove, 
And first my Agnes whisper'd love. 

Since then how often hast thou prest 
The torrid zone of this wild breast, 
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell 
With the first sin that peopled hell ; 
A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean. 
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion! 

if such clime thou canst endure 
Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure. 
What conquest o'er each erring thought 
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought! 

1 had not wander'd far and wide 
With such an angel for my guide ; 

Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me 
If she had lived, and lived to love me. 

Not then this world's wild joys had been 
To me one savage hunting scene. 
My sole delight the headlong race 
And frantic hurry of the chase ; 
To start, pursue, and bring to bay. 
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, 
Then — from the carcass turn away ! 
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed. 
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed : 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Yes, Grod and man might now approve me 
If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me! 

Sir W. Scott. 

CVI. 

THE FORSAKEN BRIDE. 

waly waly up the bank. 

And waly waly down the brae, 
And waly waly jow burn-side 

Where I and my Love wont to gae! 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trusty tree ; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, 
Sae my true Love did lichtly me. 

O waly waly, but love be bonny 

A little time while it is new ; 
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld 

And fades awa' like morning dew. 
O wherefore should I busk my head? 

Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 
For my true Love has me forsook. 

And says he'll never loc me mair. 

Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed ; 

The sheets sail ne'er be prest by me : 
Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 

Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree? 
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? 

For of my life I am wearie. 

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 

'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry. 
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 



BOOK SECOND. 95 

When we came in by Glasgow town 

We were a comely sight to see ; 
My Love was clad in the black velvet, 

And I mj^sell in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kist. 

That love had been sae ill to win ; 
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 

And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 
And, O ! if my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurse's knee, 
And I mysell were dead and gane, 

And the green grass growing over me! 

Anon. 



CVII. 

FAIR HELEN. 

I wish I were where Helen lies : 

Night and day on me she cries ; 

O that I were where Helen lies 

On fair Kirconnell lea ! 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt. 
And died to succor me 1 

think na but my heart was sair 

When my Love dropt down and spak nae mairl 

1 laid her down wi' meikle care 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

As I went down the water-side, 
None but my foe to be my guide. 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
On fair Kirconnell lea ; 



96 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

I lighted down my sword to draw, 
I hacked him in ])ieces sma', 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 

For her sake that died for me. 

O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
I'll make a garland of thy hair 
Shall bind my heart for evermair 
Until the day I die. 

O that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and da}^ on me she ci'ies ; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise. 

Says, " Haste and come to me !" 

Helen fair! O Helen chaste! 
If I were with thee, I were blest. 
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

1 wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
And I in Helen's arms lying, 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

I wish I were where Helen lies : 
Kight and day on me she cries ; 
And I am weary of the skies, 
Since my Love died for me. 

Anon. 

CVIII. 

THE TWA CORBIES. 

As I was walking all alane 

I heard twa corbies making a mane ; 

The tane unto the t'other sa}*, 

"Where sail we gang and dine to-day?" 



BOOK SECOND. 97 

" — In behint yon auld fail dj^ke, 
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; 
And naebody kens that he lies there, 
But bis hawk, his bound, and lady fair. 

" His bound is to the hunting ganc, 
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, 
His lady's ta'en another mate. 
So we niaj' mak our dinner sweet. 

" Ye'U sit on his white hause-bane, 
And I'll pick out bis bonny blue een : 
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 

" Mony a one for him makes mane, 
But nane sail ken where be is gane ; 
O'er his white banes, when they are bare, 
The wind sail blaw for evermair." 

Anon. 



cix. 
TO BLOSSOMS. 

Fair pledges of a fruitful ti*ee, 
Why do ye fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past. 

But you may stay yet here awhile 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 

What, were ye born to be 

An hour or half's delight. 
And so to bid good-night ? 

'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 

Merely to show your worth. 

And lose you quite. 



98 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

But you are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er go brave : 
And after they have shown their pride 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 

R. Herrick. 



ex. 
TO DAFFODILS. 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon : 
As yet the early-rising Sun 

Has not attain'd his noon. 
Stay, stay, 

Until the hasting day 
Has run 

But to the even-song; 
And, having pray'd together, we 

Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay, as you, 

We have as short a Spring ; 
As quick a growth to meet decay 
As you, or any thing. 

We die, 
As your hours do, and dry 

Away 
Like to the Summer's rain ; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 

R. Herrick. 



BOOK SECOND. - 99 

CXI. 

THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN. 

How vainly men themselves amaze 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays, 
And their incessant labors see 
Crown'd from some single herb or tree, 
Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid ; 
While all the flowers and trees do close 
To weave the garlands of Eepose. 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 
And Innocence thy sister dear ? 
Mistaken long, I sought j'ou then 
In busy companies of men : 
Your sacred plants, if here below, 
Only among the plants will grow : 
Society is all but rude 
To this delicious solitude. 

No white nor red was ever seen 

So amorous as this lovely green. 

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame. 

Cut in these trees their mistress' name : 

Little, alas, they know or heed 

How far these beauties her exceed ! 

Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound, 

No name shall but your own be found. 

When we have run our passion's heat, 
Love hither makes his best retreat : 
The gods, who mortal beauty chase. 
Still in a tree did end their I'ace : 



100 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Apollo hunted Daphne so 
Only that she might laurel grow : 
And Pan did after Syrinx speed 
Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 



What wondrous life is this I lead ! 
Eipe apples drop about my head ; 
The luscious clusters of the vine 
Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; 
The nectarine and curious peach 
Into my hands themselves do reach ; « 
Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less 

Withdraws into its happiness ; 

The mind, that ocean where each kind 

Does sti'aight its own resemblance find ; 

Yet it creates, transcending these, 

Far other worlds, and other seas ; 

Annihilating all that's made 

To a green thought in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot, 
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 
Casting the bodj^'s vest aside 
M}' soul into the boughs does glide ; 
There, like a bird, it sits and sings. 
Then Avhets and claps its silver wings, 
And, till prepared for longer flight, 
Waves in its plumes the various light. 

Such was that happy Garden-state 
While man there walk'd without a mate 
After a place so pure and sweet, 
What other help could yet be meet! 



BOOK SECOND. 101 

But 'twas beyond a mortal's share 
To wander solitary there : 
Two paradises are in one, 
To live in Paradise alone. 

How well the skilful gardener drew 
Of flowers and herbs this dial new ! 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run : 
And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
Computes its time as well as we. 
How could such sweet and wholesome hours 
Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers ! 

A. Marvell. 



CXII, 
L'ALLEGRO. 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 
In Stygian cave forlorn 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy 
Find out some uncouth cell 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings 
And the night-raven sings ; 

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks 
As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 

But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 
In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne, 
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
Whom lovely Yenus at a birth 
With two sister Graces more 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore : 
Or whether (as some sager sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 



102 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. ' 

Zephyr, with Aurora inlaying, 
As he met her once a-Maying — 
^ There on beds of violets blue 

And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew 
Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, Nj'mph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful jollity. 
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, 
And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides : — 
Come, and trip it as you go 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ; 
And if I give thee honor due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 
To live with her, and live with thee 
In unreproved pleasures free ; 
To hear the lark begin his flight 
And singing startle the dull night 
From his watch-tower in the skies. 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 
And at my window bid good-morrow 
Through the sweetbrier, or the vine, 
Or the twisted eglantine : 
While the cock with lively din 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 
And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
Stoutly struts his dames before : 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 
From the side of some hoar hill, 
Throuiih the hiii'h wood cchoinir shrill. 



BOOK SECOND. 103 

Sometime walking, not unseen, 
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 
Right against the eastern gate 
Where the great Sun begins his state 
Robed in flames and amber light. 
The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
While the ploughman, near at hand, 
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, 
And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 
And the mower whets his scythe, 
And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye, hath caught new pleasures 
Whilst the landscape round it measures; 
Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; 
Mountains, on whose barren breast 
The laboring clouds do often rest ; 
Meadows trim with daisies pied. 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosom'd high in tufted trees, 
Where perhaps some Beauty lies, 
The Cynosure of neighboring eyes. 

Hard by, a cottage chimney amokea 
From betwixt two aged oaks. 
Where Cory don and Th^-rsis, met. 
Are at thci.r savory dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes 
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
Or, if the earlier season lead, 
To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 

Sometimes with secure delight 
The upland hamlets will invite. 
When the merry bells ring round. 
And the jocund rebecks sound 



104 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

To many a youth and many a maid, 

Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; 

And 3'oung and old come forth to play 

On a svfnshine holy-day, 

Till the live-long daylight fail : 

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 

With stories told of many a feat, 

How faery Mab the junkets eat; 

She was pinch'd and pull'd, she said ; 

And he, by friar's lantern led ; 

Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat 

To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 

When in one night, ei'e glimpse of morn. 

His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn 

That ten day-laborei-s could not end ; 

Then lies him down the lubber fiend. 

And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, 

Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; 

And crop-full out of doors he flings, 

Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 
By whispering winds soon luU'd asleep. 

Tower'd cities please us then. 
And the busy hum of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Eain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace, whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In saff'ron robe, with taper clear. 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry. 
With mask, and antique pageantry ; 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream. 
Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Jonson's learned sock be on, 



HOOK SECOND. 105 

Or SAveetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

And ever against eating cares 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs 
Married to immortal verse, 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
In notes, with many a winding bout 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 
With wanton heed and giddy cunning, 
The melting voice through mazes running, 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony ; 
That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
From golden slumber, on a bed 
Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto, to have quite set free 
His half-regain'd Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give. 
Mirth, with thee 1 mean to live. 

J. Milton. 

CXIII. 

IL PENSEROSO. 

Hence, vain deluding Joys, 

The brood of Folly without father bred ! 
How little you bestead 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! 
Dwell in some idle brain. 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess 
As thick and numberless 

As the ga}' motes that people the sunbeams, 
Or likest hovering dreams 

The fickle pensionei'S of Morpheus' train. 

But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, 
Hail, divincst Melancholy ! 



106 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Whose saintly visage is too bright 

To hit the sense of human sight, 

And therefore to our weaker view 

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ; 

Black, but such as in esteem 

Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 

Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove 

To set her beaut3''s praise above 

The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended 

Yet thou art higher fiar descended : 

Thee bright-hair'd Yesta, long of yore, * 

To solitary Saturn bore; 

His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign 

Such mixture was not held a slain : 

Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 

He met her, and in secret shades 

Of Avood}' Ida's inmost grove. 

While yet there was no fear of Jove, 

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train, 
And sable stole of cj'pres lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn : 
Come, but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step, and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies. 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 
There, held in holy passion still, 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad leaden downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast : 
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
And hears the Muses in a ring 
Aye, round about Jove's altar sing : 
And add to these retired Leisure 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure : — 



BOOK SECOND. 107 

But first, and chiefest, with thee bring 

Him that yon soars on golden wing 

Guiding the fiery-Avheeled throne, 

The cherub Contemplation ; 

And the mute Silence hist along, 

'Less Philomel will deign^ song 

In her sweetest saddest plight, 

Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 

Gently o'er the accustom'd oak. 

— Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly. 

Most musical, most raclancholj^ ! 

Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among 

I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 

And missing thee, I walk unseen 

On the dry smooth-shaven green, 

To behold the wandering Moon 

Riding near her highest noon. 

Like one that had been led astray 

Through the heaven's wide pathless way, 

And oft, as if her head she bow'd, 

Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Oft, on a plat of rising ground 
I hear the far-ofF-curfew sound 
Over some wide-water'd shore. 
Swinging slow with sullen roar: 
Or, if the air will not permit. 
Some still removed place will fit. 
Where glowing embers through the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom; 
Far from all resort of mirth, 
Save the cricket on the hearth. 
Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
To bless the doors from nightly harm. 

Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear 
With thrice-great Hermes, or unspherc 



1U8 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind, that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook : 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground, 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet, or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
In seepter'd pall come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 
Or the tale of Troy divine ; 
Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. 

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musseus fi'om his bower, 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string, 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek 
And made Hell grant what Love did seek ! 
Or call up him that left half told 
The story of Cambuscan bold. 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife 
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass; 
And of the wondrous horse of brass 
On which the Tartar king did ride : 
And if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung 
Of tui'ne3^s, and of trophies hung, 
Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, 
Till civil -suited Morn appear, 
Not trick'd and frounced as she was wont 
With the Attic Boy to hunt, 
But kercheft in a comely cloud 
While rocking winds are piping loud, 



BOOK SECOND. 109 

Or ushei-'d with a shower still, 

When the gust hath blown his fill, 

Ending on the rustling leaves 

With minute drops from off the eaves. 

And when the sun begins to fling 

His flaring beams, mo, goddess, bring 

To arched walks of twilight groves. 

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. 

Of pine, or monumental oak, 

Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke. 

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt 

Or fi'ight them from their hallow'd haunt. 

There in close covert by some brook 

Where no profaner eye may look, 

Hide me from day's garish eye, 

While the bee with honey'd thigh 

That at her flowery work doth sing, 

And the waters murmuring, 

With such concert as they keep 

Entice the dewj^-feather'd Sleep ; 

And let some strange mystei'ious dream 

Wave at his wings in aery stream 

Of lively portraiture display 'd. 

Softly on my eyelids laid : 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 

Above, about, or underneath, 

Sent by some spirit to mortals good, 

Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 
To walk the studious cloister's pale, 
And love the high-embowed roof. 
With antique pillars massy proof, 
And storied windows richly dight 
Casting a dim religious light: 
There let the pealing organ blow 
To the full-voiced quire below 
In service high and anthems clear, 
As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 



no THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Dissolve me into ecstasies, 

And bring all Heaven before mine qjqu. 

And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage, 
The hairy gown and mossy cell 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heaven doth show, 
And every herb that sips the dew ; 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 
And I with thee will choose to live. 

J. Mlltcn. 

CXIV. 

SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA. 

Where the remote Bermudas ride 

In the ocean's bosom unespied, 

From a small boat that row'd along 

The listening winds received this song. 

" What should we do but sing His praise 

That led us through the watery maze 

Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, 

That lift the deep upon their backs, 

Unto an isle so long unknown. 

And yet far kinder than our own ? 

He lands us on a grassy stage. 

Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage: 

He gave us this eternal spring 

Which here enamels everything. 

And sends the fowls to us in care 

On daily visits through the air. 

He hangs in shades the orange bright 

Like golden lamps in a green night, 

And does in the pomegranates close 

Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : 



BOOK SECOND. 

He makes the figs our mouths to meet, 
And throws the melons at our feet; 
But apples plants of such a price, 
JSTo tree could ever bear them twice. 
With cedars chosen by his hand 
From Lebanon he stores the land ; 
And makes the hollow seas that roar 
Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
He cast (of which we rather boast) 
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 
And in these rocks for us did frame 
A temple where to sound His name. 
O let our voice His praise exalt 
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, 
Which then perhaps rebounding may 
Echo beyond the Mexique bay!" 
— Thus sung they in the English boat 
A holy and a cheerful note; 
And all the wa}'-, to guide their chime, 
With falling oars they kept the time. 

A. Marvell. 

CXV. 

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. 

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy. 
Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse ! 
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ 
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce 
And to our high-raised phantasy present 
That undisturbed Song of pure concent 
Aye sung before the sapphire-color'd throne 

To Him that sits thereon, 
With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow; 
And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 



111 



112 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

With those just Spirits that weai' victorious palms, 

Hymns devout and holy psalms 

Singing everlastingly : 
That we on earth, with undiscording voice. 
May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin 
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd 
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
In first obedience, and their state of good. 
O may we soon again renew that Song, 
And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
To his celestial concert us unite. 
To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light ! 

J. Milton. 

CXVI. 

ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. 

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 

By Philip's warlike son — 

Aloft in awful state 

The godlike hero sate 

On his imperial throne ; 

His valiant peers were placed around, 

Their brows with roses and Avith myrtles bound 

(So should desert in arms be crown'd) ; 

The lovely Thais by his side 

Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 

In flower of youth and beauty's pride : — 

Happy, happy, happy pair! 

None but the brave. 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave deserves the fair! 

Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire. 
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : 








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?*u w 



BOOK SECOND. 113 

The trembling notes ascend the sky 
And heavenly joj's inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above — 
Such is the power of mighty love ! 
A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; 
Sublime on radiant spires he rode 
^When he to fair Olympia prest, 
And while he sought her snowy breast ; 
Then round her slender waist he curl'd, 
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 
— The listening crowd admire the lofty sound. 
A present deity ! they shout around : 
A i^resent deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound. 
With ravish'd eai'S 
The monarch hears, 
Assumes the god. 
Affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung : 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: 
The jolly god in triumph comes ! 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ! 
riush'd Avith a purple grace 
He shows his honest face : 

Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, he comes ! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
Drinking joys did first ordain ; 
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure. 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 
Hich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure, 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
Fought all his battles o'er again, 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain ! 



114 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The master saw the madness rise, 

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 

And, while he Heaven and Earth defied, 

Changed his hand and check'd his pride. 

He chose a mournful Muse 

Soft pity to infuse : 

He sung Darius gi'eat and good, 

By too severe a fate 

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 

Fallen from his high estate, 

And weltering in his blood; 

Deserted, at his utmost need. 

By those his former bounty fed ; 

On the bare earth exposed he lies 

With not a friend to close his eyes. 

— With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, 

Revolving in his alter'd soul 

The various turns of Chance below ; 

And now and then a sigh he stole, 

And tears began to flow. 



The mightj'' master smiled to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'Twas but a kindred sound to move, 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble, 
Honor but an empty bubble, 
Never ending, still beginning ; 
Fighting still, and still destroying ; 
If the world be worth thy winning. 
Think, O think it Avorth enjoying: 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 
Take the good the gods provide thee ! 
— The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. 



BOOK SECOND. 115 

The prince, unable to conceal his j^ain, 

Gazed on the fair 

Who caused his care, ' 

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 

At length, with love and wine at once opprest. 

The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again : 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 
Break his bands of sleep asunder. 
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark, hark ! the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head : 
As awaked from the dead 
And amazed he stares around. 
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, 
See the Furies arise ! 
See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
Behold a ghastly band 
Each a torch in his hand ! 

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain : 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew ! 

Behold how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 
— The princes applaud with a furious joy: 
And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; 
Thais led the way 
To light him to his prey. 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy ! 

— Thus, long ago. 

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, 



116 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

While organs yet were mute, 

Timotheus, to his breathing flute 

And sounding lyre, 

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 

At last divine Cecilia came, 

Inventress of the vocal frame ; 

The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 

Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 

And added length to solemn sounds, 

With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 

— Let old Timotheus yield the prize^ 

Or both divide the crown ; 

He raised a mortal to the skies. 

She drew an angel down ! 

J. Dry den. 



BOOK THIRD. 



CXVII. 

ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE. 

Now the golden Morn aloft 

Waves her dew-bespangled wing, 
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 

She woos the tardy Spring ; 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the ground, 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 

Kew-born flocks, in rustic dance, 

Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 
Forgetful of their wintry trance, 

The birds his presence greet : 
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
His trembling thrilling ecstasy; 
And lessening from the dazzled sight, 
Melts into air and liquid light. 

Yesterday the sullen year 

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly ; 
Mute was the music of the air, 

The herd stood drooping by : 
Their raptures now that wildly flow 
No yesterday nor morrow know ; 
'Tis Man alone that joy descries 
With forward and reverted eyes. 

117 



118 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Smiles on past Misfortune's brow 

Soft Eeflection's hand can trace, 
And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw 

A melancholy grace ; 
While Hope prolongs our happier hour, 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour 
And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant da3^ 

Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, 

See a kindred Grief pursue ; 
Behind the steps that Misery treads 

Approaching Comfort view ; 
The hues of bliss more brightly gloAV 
Chastised by sabler tints of woe, 
And blended Torm, with artful strife, 
The strength and hai'mony of life. 

See the wretch that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigor lost 

And breathe and walk again : 
The meanest floweret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale. 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening Paradise. 

T. Gray. 



CXVIII. 

THE QUIET LIFE. 

Happy the man whose wish and care 
A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air 
In his own "-round. 



BOOK THIRD. Ug 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
Whose flocks supply him with attire ; 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
In winter, fire. 

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away 
In health of body, peace of mind, 
Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
Together mix'd ; sweet recreation. 
And innocence, which most does please 
With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 
Thus unlamented let me die ; 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie. 

A. Pope. 

CXIX. 
THE BLIND BOY. 

say, what is that thing call'd Light, 
Which I must ne'er enjoj^ ? 

What are the blessings of the sight ? 
O tell your poor blind boy ! 

You talk of wondrous things you see, 
You say the sun shines bright ; 

1 feel him warm, but how can he 
Or make it day or night ? 

My day or night myself I make 

Whene'er I slecj) or play ; 
And could I ever keep awake 

With me 'twere always day. 



120 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

With heav}^ sighs I often hear 
You mourn my hapless woe ; 

But sure with patience I can bear 
A loss I ne'er can know. 

Then let not what I cannot have 
My cheer of mind destroy : 

Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 
Although a poor blind boy. 

C. Gibber. 



cxx. 



ON A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD 

FISHES. 

'Twas on a lofty vase's side, 
Where China's gayest art had dyed 
The azure flowers that blow, 
Demurest of the tabb}^ kind, 
The pensive Selima, reclined, 
Gazed on the lake below. 

Her conscious tail her joy declared : 
The fair round face, the snow}^ beard. 
The velvet of her paws. 
Her coat that with the tortoise vies. 
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes — 
She saw, and purr'd applause. 

Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide 
Two angel forms were seen to glide, 
The Genii of the stream: 
Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue 
Through richest purple, to the view 
Betray'd a golden gleam. 



BOOK THIRD. 121 

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw : 

A whisker first, and tlien a claw, 

With many an ardent wish 

She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize — 

What female heart can gold despise ? 

What Cat's averse to Fish ? 

Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent 
Again she stretch'd, again she bent, 
Nor knew the gulf between — 
Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — 
The slippery verge her feet beguiled ; 
She tumbled headlong in ! 

Eight times emerging from the flood 
She mew'd to every watery God 
Some speedy aid to send : — 
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, 
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — 
A favorite has no friend ! 

From hence, ye Beauties ! undeceived, 
Know one false step is ne'er retrieved. 
And be with caution bold : 
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, 
Nor all that glisters, gold ! 

T. Gray. 

CXXI. 

TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY. 

Timely blossom. Infant fair, 
Fondling of a happy pair. 
Every morn and ever}- night 
Their solicitous delight, 
Sleeping, waking, still at ease, 
Pleasing, without skill to please ; 



122 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Little gossip, blithe and hale, 
Tattling many a broken tale, 
Singing many a tuneless song, 
Lavish of a heedless tongue; 
Simple maiden, void of art. 
Babbling out the very heart. 
Yet abandon'd to thy avUI, 
Yet imagining no ill. 
Yet too innocent to blush ; 
Like the linnet in the bush 
To the mother-linnet's note 
Moduling her slender throat ; 
Chirping forth thy petty joys, 
Wanton in the change of toj's. 
Like the linnet gi-een, in May 
Flitting to each bloomy spray ; 
"Wearied then and glad of rest, 
Like the linnet in the nest: — 
This thy present happy lot. 
This, in time will be forgot : 
Other pleasures, other cares. 
Ever-busy Time prepares ; 
And thou shalt in thy daughter see, 
This picture, once, resembled thee. 

A. Philips 



CXXII. 

RULE BRITANNIA. 

"When Britain first at Heaven's command 

Arose from out the azure main. 
This was the charter of her land, 

And guardian angels sung the strain : 
Rule Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
Britons never shall be slaves. 



BOOK THIRD. 123 

The nations not so blest as thee 

Must in their turn to tyrants fall, 
Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free, 

The dread and envy of them all. 

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies 
Serves but to root thy native oak. 

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; 

All their attempts to bend thee down 
Will but ai-ouse thy generous flame, 

And work their woo and th};- renown. 

To thee belongs the rural reign ; 

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 
All thine shall be the subject main, 

And every shore it circles thine ! 

The Muses, still with Freedom found, 

Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd 
And manly hearts to guard the fair: — 
Eule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! 
Britons never shall be slaves ! 

J. Thomson. 



CXXIII. 
THE BARD. 

PINDARIC ODE. 

" Euin seize thee, ruthless King ! 

Confusion on thy banners wait ! 
Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing 

They mock the air with idle state. 



124 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, 

Nov e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail 

To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 

From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !" 

— Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, 
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long array : — 
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; 
"To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance. 

On a rock, whose haughty brow 

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 
Eobed in the sable garb of woe 

With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; 
(Loose his beard and hoar}^ hair 
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air) 
And with a master's hand and prophet's fire 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : 
" Hark, how each giant oak and desert-cave 

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 
O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave, 

Eevenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 

" Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 

That hush'd the stoi-my main : 
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : 

Mountains, ye mourn in vain 

Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his clond-topt head. 

On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, 
Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale : 
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail ; 

The famish'd eagle screams, and jxxsses by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, 



BOOK THIRD. 125 

Dear as the ruddy drops that warm mj- heart, 
Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 

No more I weep; They do not sleep ; 
On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 

I see them sit ; They linger yet, 
Avengers of their native land : 

With me in dreadful harmony they join, 

And weaye with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 

" Weave the warp and weave the woof, 

The winding-sheet of Edward's race : 
Give ample room and verge enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 
Mark the year and raark the night 
When Severn shall re-echo with affright 
The shrieks of death through Berkley's roof that ring. 
Shrieks of an agonizing king ! 

She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs 
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate. 

From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs 
The scourge of Heaven ! What terrors round him wait ! 
Amazement in his van, Avith Flight combined. 
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. 

" Mighty victor, might}' lord. 

Low on his funeral couch he lies ! 
No pitying heart, no eye, afford 

A tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the sable warrior fled ? 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. 
The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born ? 
— Gone to salute the rising morn. 
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows. 

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 
In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes: 

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm : 
Eegardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway. 
That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. 



126 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

'• Fill high the sparkling bowl, 
The rich repast prepare ; 

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : 
Close by the regal chair 

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. 
Heard ye the din of battle bray. 

Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? 

Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 
And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. 

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, 
With many a foul and midnight murder fed, 

Eevere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, 
And spare the meek usurper's holy head ! 
Above, below, the rose of snow, 

Twined with her blushing foe, we spread : 
The bristled boar in infant-gore 

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom. 
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 

"Edward, lo ! to sudden fate 

(Weave we the woof; The thread is spun ;) 
Half of thy heart we consecrate. 

(The web is wove; The work is done;) 
Stay, O stay ! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 
In yon bright track that fires the western skies 
They melt, they vanish from my cj'cs. 
But O ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 

Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? 
Visions of glory, spare m}" aching sight, 

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! 
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail : — 
All hail, ye genuine kings ! Britannia's issue, hail ! 

" Girt with many a baron bold 

Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 



BOOK THIRD. 127 

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 

In bearded majesty, appear. 
In the midst a form divine ! 
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton Line ; 
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face 
Attemper'd sweet to virgin grace. 
\Yhat strings symphonious tremble in the air, 

What strains of vocal transport round her pla}' ! 
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 

They breathe a soul to animate thj- clay. 
Bright Eapture calls, and, soaring as she sings, 
AVaves in the qjq of Heaven her many-color'd wings. 

" The verse adorn again 

Fierce War, and faithful Love, 
And Truth severe by fairy Fiction drest. 

In buskin'd measures move 
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, 
VYith Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 
A voice as of the cherub-choir 

Gales from blooming Eden bear. 

And distant warblings lessen on my ear 
That lost in long futurity expire. 
Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, 

Eaised by thy breath, has qucncb'd the orb of daj' ? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood 

And warms the nations with redoubled ra}'. 
Enough for me : with joy I see 

The different doom our fates assign ; 
Be thine Despair and sceptred Care ; 

To triumph and to die are mine." 
— He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. 

T. Gray. 



128 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CXXIV. 

ODE WEITTEN IN MDCCXLVI. 

How sleep the Brave who sink to rest 
By all their Country's wishes blest ! 
AVhen Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung, 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay, 
And Freedom shall awhile repair 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 

W. Collins. 



cxxv. 

LAMENT FOR CULLODEN. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, Alas ! 
And aye the saut tear blin's her ee : 
Drumossie moor — Drumossio day — 
A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear. 
My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to see ; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 



BOOK THIRD. 129 

For mony a heart thou hast made sair 
That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. 

R. Burns. 



CXXVI. 
LAMENT FOR FLODDEN. 

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, 

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day ; 
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At bughts, in the moi'ning, nac blythe lads are scorning, 

Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae ; 
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, 

Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray ; 

At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — 
The Flowei's of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae j'ounkers are roaming 
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; 

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 
The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. 

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to'the Border! 

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; 
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost. 

The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 

We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; 

Women and bairns are heai'tless and wae ; 
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede awa.y. 

J. Elliott. 
9 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CXXVII. 
THE BRAES OF YARROW. 

Tby braes were bonn}'', Yarrow stream, 
When first on them I met my lover; 
Thy braes how dreary, Yari'ow stream, 
When now thy waves his body cover, 
For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! 
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
For never on tby banks shall I 
Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow. 

He promised me a milk-white steed 

To bear me to his father's bowers ; 

He promised me a little page 

To squire me to his father's towers ; 

He promised me a wedding-ring, — 

The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ; — 

iNTow he is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 

Sweet were his words when last we met ; 
My passion I as freely told him ; 
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought 
That I should never more behold him ! 
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 
It vajiish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; 
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend. 
And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. 

His mother from the window look'd 

With all the longing of a mother ; 

His little sister weeping walk'd 

The green-wood path to meet her brother ; 

They sought him east, they sought him west, 

They sought him all the forest thorough ; 



BOOK THIRD. 131 

They only saw the cloud of night, 
They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 

No longer from thy window look — 
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! 
No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 
No longer seek him east or west, 
And search no more the forest thorough ; 
For, wandering in the night so dark, 
He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. 

The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
No other youth shall be my marrow — 
I'll seek thy body in the stream. 
And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. 
— The tear did nevet* leave her check, 
No other youth became her marrow ; 
She found his body in the stream, 
And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 

J. Logan. 

CXXVIII. 
WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW. 

Down in yon garden sweet and gay, 

Where bonny grows the lily, 
I heard a fair maid sighing say, 

" My wish be wi' sweet Willie! 

" Willie's rare, and Willie's fair. 

And Willie's wondrous bonny ; 
And Willie hecht to marry me 

Gin e'er he married ony. 

" O gentle wind, that bloweth south, 

From where my love repaireth, 
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth. 

And tell me how he fareth ! 



132 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

•' O tell sweet Willie to come doun 
And hear the mavis singing, 

And see the birds on ilka bush 
And leaves around them hinging. 

"The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast 
And gentle throat sae narrow ; 

There's sport eneuch for gentlemen 
On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 

" O Leader haughs are wide and bi"aid, 
And Yarrow haughs are bonny ; 

There Willie hecht.to marry me 
If e'er he married ony. 

"But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 
And does not hear me weeping ; 

Draws many a tear frae true love's ee 
When other maids are sleeping. 

" Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 
The night I'll mak' it narrow. 

For a' the live lang winter night 
I lie twined o' my marrow. 

" O came ye by yon water-side ? 

Pou'd you the rose or lily ? 
Or came you by yon meadow green, 

Or saw you my sweet Willie ?" 

She sought him up, she sought him down, 
She sought him braid and naiTOW ; 

Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, 
She found him drown'd in Yarrow! 

Anon. 



BOOK THIRD. 133 

CXXIX. 

LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

Toll for the Brave ! 
The brave that are no more! 
All sunk beneath the wave 
Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried, 
Had made the vessel heel 
And laid her on her side. 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds. 
And she was overset ; 
Down went the Eoyal George, 
With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 
Brave Kempcnfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought, 
His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 
JSTo tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak. 
She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in its sheath. 
His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 
With twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up 
Once dreaded by our foes ! 
And mingle with our cup 
The tear that England owes. 



134 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again 

Full charged with England's thunder, 

And plough the distant main : 

But Kerapenfelt is gone, 
His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred 
Shall plough the wave no more. 

W. Cowper. 



CXXX, 

BLACK-EYED SUSAN. 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, 

The streamers waving in the wind, 
When black-ej^ed Susan came aboard : 

" O ! where shall I my true-love find ? 
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 
If my sweet William sails among the crew." 

William, who high upon the yard 

Eock'd with the billow to and fro, 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard 

He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below: 
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands. 
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air. 

Shuts close his pinions to his breast 
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear. 

And drops at once into her nest : — 
The noblest captain in the British fleet 
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 



y 



BOOK THIRD. I35 

" O Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 

My vows shall ever true remain ; 
Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 

We only jjart to meet again. 
Change as yo list, yc winds ; my heart shall be 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

"Believe not what the landmen say 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind : 

They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, 
In every port a mistress find : 

Yes, yes, believe them when thej^ tell thee so, 

For thou art jiresent wheresoe'er I go. 

"If to fair India's coast we sail. 

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 

Thy skin is ivory so white. 
Thus every beauteous object that I view 
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 

" Though battle call me from thy arms. 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 

William shall to his Dear return. 
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly. 
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word. 

The sails their swelling bosom spread ; 
ISTo longer must she sta}^ aboard ; 

They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. 
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; 
" A4ieu !" she cries, and waved her lily hand. 

J. Gay. 



136 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CXXXI. 
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 

Of all the girls that are so smart 

There's none like pretty Sally ; 
She is the darling of ni}^ heart, 

And she lives in our alle3^ 
There is no lady in the land 

Is half so sweet as Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Her father he makes cabbage-nets 

And through the streets does cry 'em ; 
Her mother she sells laces long 

To such as please to bu}^ 'em : 
But sure such folks could ne'er beget 

So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
She is the dai'ling of ray heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

When she is by, I leave my work, 

I love her so sincerely ; 
My master comes like any Turk, 

And bangs me most severely. 
But let him bang his bellyful, 

I'll bear it all for Sail}' ; 
She is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 

• 
Of all the days that's in the week 

I dearl}^ love but one day — 
And that's the day that comes betwixt 

A Saturday and Monday ; 



BOOK THIRD. 137 

For then I'm drest all in 1113" best 

To walk abroad with Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master carries me to church, 

And often am I blamed 
Because I leave him in the lurch 

As soon as text is named ; 
I leave the church in sermon-time 

And slink away to Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

When Christmas comes about again, 

O then I shall have money ; 
I'll hoard it up, and box it all, 

I'll give it to my honey : 
I would it were ten thousand pound, 

I'd give it all to Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master and the neighbors all 

Make game of me and Sally, 
And, but for her, I'd better be 

A slave and row a galley ; 
But Avhen my seven long years are out, 

O then I'll marry Sally, — 
O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, 

But not in our alley ! 

H. Carey. 



138 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CXXXII. 
A FAREWELL. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

And fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go 

A service to my bonnie lassie : 
The boat rocks at the pier of Leith, 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly. 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 

R. Burns. 



cxxxiir. 

If doughty deeds m}' lady please. 
Right soon I'll mount my steed ; 
And strong his arm, and fast his seat, 

That bears frae me the meed. 
I'll wear thy colors in my cap, 

Thy picture at my heart ; 
And he that bends not to thine eye 
Shall rue it to his smart ! 

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; 

O tell me how to woo thee ! 
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, 
Thouah ne'er another trow me. 



BOOK THIRD. 139 

If gay attire delight thine eye, 

I'll dight me in array ; 
I'll tend thy chamber door all night, 

And squire thee all the day. 
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, 

These sounds I'll strive to catch ; 
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, 

That voice that nane can match. 

But if fond love thy heart can gain, 

I never broke a vow ; 
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, 

I never loved but you. 
For you alone I ride the ring, 

For you I wear the blue ; 
For you alone I strive to sing, 
O tell me how to woo ! 

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ! 

O tell rae how to woo thee ! 
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, 
Though ne'er another trow me. 
Graham of Gartmoi'e. 



CXXXIV. 

TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 

Silent and chaste she steals along. 

Far from the world's gay busy throng ; 

With gentle yet prevailing force, 

Intent upon her destined course; 

Graceful and useful all she does, 

Blessing and blest where'er she goes ; 

Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass. 

And Heaven reflected in her face. 

W. Cowper. 



140 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CXXXV. 

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile — 
Though shut 80 close thy laughing ej-es, 
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile, 
And move, and breathe delicious sighs ! 

Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks 
And mantle o'er her neck of snow : 
Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks 
What most I wish — and fear to know ! 

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps ! 
Her fair hands folded on her breast : 
And now, how like a saint she sleeps! 
A seraph in the realms of rest ! 

Sleep on secure ! Above control 
Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee 
And may the secret of thy soul 
Remain within its sanctuary ! 

S. Rogers. 



CXXXVI. 

For evei", Fortune, wilt thou prove 
An unrelenting foe to Love, 
And when M'e meet a mutual heart 
Come in between, and bid us part? 

Bid us sigh on from day to day, 
And wish and wish the soul away ; 
Till youth and genial years are flown. 
And all the life of life is scone ? 



I 



BOOK THIRD. 141 

But busy, busy, still art thou, 
To bind the loveless joyless vow, 
The heart I'rom pleasure to delude, 
To join the gentle to the rude. 

For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, 
And I absolve thy future care; 
All other blessings I resign, 
Make but the dear Amanda mine. 

J. Thomson. 

cxxxvir. 

The merchant, to secure his treasure, 
Conveys it in a borrow'd name : 
Euphelia serves to grace my measure. 
But Cloe is my real flame. 

My softest verse, my darling lyre 

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay — 

When Cloe noted her desire 

That I should sing, that I should play. 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 
But M?ith my numbers mix my sighs; 
And whilst 1 sing Euphelia's praise, 
I fix my soul on Cloe's e^^es. 

Fair Cloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd : 
I sung, and gazed ; I play'd, and trembled : 
And Venus to the Loves around 
Remark'd how ill we all dissembled, 

M. Prior. 

CXXXVIII. 

When lovely woman stoops to folly 
And finds too late that men betray. 
What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
What art can wash her guilt away? 



142 THE 00 L DEN TREASURY. 

The only art her guilt to cover, 
To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover 
And wring his bosom, is — to die. 

0. Goldsmith. 



CXXXIX. 



Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fair? 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

And I sae fu' o' care ? 

Thou'U break my heart, thou bonnie bird 

That sings ujDon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fause Luve was true. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon 

To see the woodbine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its love, 

And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae aff its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 

But left the thorn wi' me. 

R. Burns. 



BOOK THIRD. US 

CXL. 
THE PROGRESS OF POESY. 

A PINDARIC ODE. 

Awake, ^olian lyre, awake, 
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
From Helicon's harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy progress take : 
The laughing flowers that round them blow 
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
Now the rich stream of Music winds along, 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign ; 
Now rolling down the steep amain 
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : 
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. 

O Sovereign of the willing soul, 
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares 

And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. 
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 
Has curb'd the fury of his car 
And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. 
Perching on the sceptred hand 
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king 
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing : 
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 

Thee the voice, the dance, obey, ^ 

Temper'd to thy warbled lay. 

O'er Idalia's velvet-green 

The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 

On Cytherea's day, 



U4 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 
Frisking light in frolic measures ; 
Now pursuing, now retreating. 

Now in circling troops they meet; 
To brisk notes in cadence beatin<r 

Glance their many-twinkling feet. 
Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : 

Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay : 
With arms sublime that float upon the air, 

In gliding state she wins her easy way : 
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. 

Man's feeble race what ills await ! 
Labor, and Penurj^, the racks of Pain, 
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! 
The fond complaint, my song, disprove. 
And justify the laws of Jove. 
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? 
Night, and all her sickl}^ dews. 
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cr}^. 
He gives to range the dreary sky; 
Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
Hjq^erion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 

In climes beyond the solar road. 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 

To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
Of Chili's boundless forests laid. 
She deigns to hear the savage j'outh repeat, 
, In loose numbers wildly sweet, 

Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. 

Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, 

Glory pursue, and^encroys Shame, 

Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 



ROOK THIRD. I45 

Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 

Isles that crown th' ^gean deep, 

Fields that cool Ilissus hives, 

Or where Meander's amber waves 

In lingering lab'rinths creep, 

How do your tuneful echoes languish, 

Mute, but to the voice of anguish ! 

Where each old poetic mountain 

Inspiration breathed around ; 
Every shade and haliow'd fountain 

Murmur'd deep a solemn sound : 
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, 

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. 
Alike the}^ scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 

And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
When X/atium had her lofty spirit lost. 
They sought, O Albion ! next, thy sea-encircled coast. 

Far from the sun and summer gale 
In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, 
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 

To him the mighty Mother did unveil 
Her awful face : the dauntless Child 
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 
This pencil take (she said), whose colors clear 
Eichly paint the vernal year: 
Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! 
This can unlock the gates of J03' ; 
Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. 

Nor second He, that rode sublime 
Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy 
The secrets of the Abyss to spy : 

He pass'd the flaming bounds of Place and Time j 
The living Throne, the ",apphirv blaze. 
Where Angels tremble while they gaze, 
10 



146 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

He saw ; but, blasted with excess of light, 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 

Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 

Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear 

Two coursers of ethei*eal race 

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. 

Hark, his hands the lyre explore! 

Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 

But ah ! 'tis heard no more 

O ! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit 
Wakes thee now ! Though he inherit 
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, 

That the Theban Eagle bear. 
Sailing with supreme dominion 

Through the azure deep of air : 
Yet oft befoi-e his infant eyes would run 

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray 
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate : 
Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. 

T. Gray. 

CXLI. 

THE PASSIONS. 

AN ODE FOR MUSIC. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung. 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng'd around her magic cell, 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possest beyond the Muse's painting; 
By turns they feltthe glowing mind 
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined ; 



BOOK THIRD. 147 

Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Fill'd with fuiy, rapt, inspired. 
From the supporting inj'rtles round 
They snatch'd her instruments of sound, 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each, for Madness ruled the hour, 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid. 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 

E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, 

In lightnings own'd his secret stings ; 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre 

And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair — 

LoAv sullen sounds his grief beguiled, 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

But thoU; Hope, with eyes so fair. 

What Avas thy delighted measure ? 
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; 

And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close. 
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair; 

And longer had she sung : — but, with a frown, 
Revenge impatient rose : 



148 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; 
And with a withering look 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er pi-ophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And ever and anon he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat ; 
And though sometimes, each dreary pause between. 
Dejected Pity at his side 
Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd : 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ; 

And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. 

With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired. 

And from her wild sequester'd seat. 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 

And, dashing soft from rocks ai'ound, 

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 

Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 
Eound an holy calm diffusing. 
Love of peace, and lonely musing. 

In hollow murmurs died away. 

But ! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung. 

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 
The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, 



BOOK THIRD. 149 

Satyrs, and Sylvan Boys, were seen 
Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 

And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 
He, with viny crown advancing, 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest : 
But soon be saw the brisk awakening viol, 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : 
They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids 
Amidst the festal-sounding shades 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fiantastic round : 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 

And he, amidst his frolic play, 

As if he would the charming air repay. 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 

O Music ! sphere-descended maid, 
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid ! 
AVhy, goddess, wh}^, to us denied, 
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
As in that loved Athenian bower 
You learn'd an all-commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd! 
Can well recall what then it heard. 
Where is thy native simple heart 
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art ? 
Arise, as in that elder time. 
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! 
Thy wonders, in that godlike age. 
Fill thy recording Sister's page; — 
'Tis said, and I believe the tale. 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail. 



150 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
Than all which charms this laggard age, 
E'en all at once together found 
Cecilia's mingled world of sound : — 
O bid our vain endeavors cease : 
Eevive the just designs of Greece: 
Return in all thy simple state ! 
Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 

W. Collins. 



CXLII. 
ODE ON THE SPRING. 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear. 
Disclose the long-expecting flowers 

And wake the purple year! 
The Attic warbler pours her throat 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note. 

The untaught harmony of Spring : 
While, whispering pleasure as they fly, 
Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky 

Their gather'd fragrance fling. 

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader, browner shade. 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

O'er-canopies the glade, 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
With me the Muse shall sit, and think 

(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vam the ardor of the Crowd, 
How low, how little are the Proud, 

How indigent the Great ! 



BOOK THIRD. 151 

Still is the toiling hand of Cave ; 

The panting herds rejDOSc : 
Yet hark how through the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows! 
The inseet youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honey'd spring 

And float amid the liquid noon : 
Some lightly o'er the current skim, 
Some show their gayly-gilded trim 

Quick-glancing to the sun. 

To Contemplation's sober oye 

Such is the race of Man : 
And they that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the busy and the gay 
But flutter through life's little day, 

In Fortune's varying colors drest: 
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, 
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance 

They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear, in accents low. 

The sportive kind rcpl}^ 
Poor moralist! and what art thou ? 

A solitary fly ! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 

No painted plumage to displa}' : 
On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 

We frolic while 'tis May. 

T. Gray. 



152 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CXLIII. 

THE POPLAR FIELD. 

The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade 
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, 
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 

Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view 
Of my favorite field, and the bank where they grew ; 
And now in the grass, behold, they are laid, 
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat. 
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat ; 
And the scene where his melody charm'd me before 
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 

My fugitive years are all hasting away. 

And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 

With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head. 

Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 

'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can. 
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; 
Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see, 
Have a still shorter date and die sooner than Ave. 

W. Cowper. 

CXLIV. 

TO A FIELD-MOUSE. 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 
• O what a panic's in thy brcastie ! 
Thou need na start awa' sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee 

Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 



BOOK THIRD. 153 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
And justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

And fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whj^Ies. but thou may thieve; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daimen ieker in a thrave 

' S a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave. 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' : 
And naething, now, to big a new anc, 

O' foggage green ! 
And bleak December's winds ensuin' 

Baith snell and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 
And weary winter comin' fast, 
And cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out through thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble 

But house or hald. 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble 

And cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
In proving foresight may be vain ; 



154 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The best-laid schemes o' mieo and men 

Gang aft a-glej^, 
And lea'e us nought but grief and pain, 

For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'o 

On prospects drear ! 
And forward, though I canna see, 

I guess and fear. 

R. Burns. 



CXLV. 

A WISH. 

Mine be a cot beside the hill ; 
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; 
A willowy brook that turns a mill. 
With many a fall shall linger near. 

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; 
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village church among the trees, 
Where first our marriage-vows were given, 
With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
And point with taper spire to heaven. 

S. Rogers. 



BOOK THIRD. 155 

CXLVI. 
TO EVENING. 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 

Ma}' hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear 

Like thy own solemn springs, 

Thy springs, and dying gales ; 

O Nymph reserved, — while now the bright-hair'd sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With brede ethereal wove, 

O.'erhang his wavy bed ; 

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat 
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, 

Or where the beetle winds 

His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises midst the twilight path. 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — 

Now teach me, maid composed, 

To breathe some soften'd strain. 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy dark'ning vale, 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit; 

As musing slow I hail 

Thy genial loved return. 

For when thy folding-star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 

The fragrant Hours, and Elves 

Who slept in buds the day. 

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge 
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, 

The pensive Pleasures sweet. 

Prepare thy shadowy car. 



156 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; 
Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, 

"Whoso walls more awful nod 

By thy religious gleams. 

Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 

That, i'roin the mountain's side, 

Views wilds and swelling floods, 

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires, 
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all 

The dewy fingers dravv 

The gradual dusky veil. 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 

W^hile Summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 

Affi'ights thy shrinking train 

And rudely I'ends thy robes ; 

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 

Thy gentlest influence own. 

And love thy favorite name ! 

W. Collins. 



CXLVII. 

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing hci-d winds slowly o'er the lea. 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way. 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 



BOOK THIRD. 157 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant I'olds ; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his naiTOW cell for ever laid, 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of in cense- breathing morn. 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return. 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and. simple annals of the Poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike th' inevitable hour : — 
,The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 



158 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 

Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living \yvc : 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Eich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage. 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray sei'cno 

The dai'k unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' ajjplause of listening senates to command. 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade : nor cii'cumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind j 



BOOK THIRD. 159 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; 

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet, e'en these bones from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews. 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries. 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonor'd dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; 



160 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

Hard by j'on wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn. 

Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 

One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, mr at the wood was he ; 

The next, with dirges due in sad arra}^, 

Slow through the church- way path we saw him borne. 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth 
A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; 

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
He gave to Misery all he had, — a tear, 

Ho gain'd from Heaven — 'twas all he wish'd — a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

T. Gray. 



BOOK THIRD. 161 

CXLVIII. 
MARY MORISON. 

O Mary, at ihy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trystcd hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 

That make the miser's treasure poor: 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
Could I the rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Mori son. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string 

The dance gaed through the lighted ha', 
To thee my fancy took its wing, — 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
Though this was fair, and that was braw, 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is lovfiigthee? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 
R. Burns. 

CXLIX. 

BONNIE LESLEY. 

O saw yQ bonnie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border ? 
She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 
11 



162 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her for ever ; 

For nature made her what she is, 
And ne'er made sic anither! 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee ; 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he could na scaith thee. 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He'd look into thy bonnie face. 
And say, " I canna wrang thee !" 

The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 

R. Burns. 



CL. 

O my luve's like a red, red rose 

That's newly sprung in June ; 
O my luve's like the melodie 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
As f\iir art thou, my bonnie lass. 

So deep in luve am I ; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear. 

Till a' the seas gang dry : 



BOOK THIRD. 163 



Till a' the seas gang dry, 1113^ dear, 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 
I will luve thee still, my dear. 

While the sands o' life shall run. 
And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel awhile ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Though it were ten thousand mile. 

R. Burns. 

CLI. 

HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your watei'S never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours on angel wings 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Maiy. 

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But, O, fell Death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 



164 THE GOLDEN TREASURl 

O pale, pale now those rosy lips 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondlj' ! 
And closed for ayo the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary ! 

R. Burns. 



CLII. 

AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
And a' the warld to rest are gane, 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, 
While my gudeman lies sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo'od me weel, and sought me for his bride; 
But saving a croun ho had naething else beside : 
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea ; 
And the croun and the pund were baith for mo. 

He had na been awa' a week but only twa, 

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa' ; 

My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — 

And auld Eobin Gray came a-courtin' mo. 

My father could na work, and my mother could na spin ; 
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I could na win ; 
Auld Eob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee, 
Said, Jennie, for their sakes, 0, marry me ! 

My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; 

His ship it was a wrack — why did na Jamie dee ? 

Or why do I live to cry, Wue's me ? 



BOOK THIRD. 165 

My father urgit sair: my mother did na speak; 
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break : 
They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; 
Sae auld Robin Gray he w^as gudeman to me. 

I had na been a wife a week but only four, 
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
I saw mj' Jamie's wraith, for I could na think it he — ■ 
Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee. 

sail', sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; 
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away : 

1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; 
And why was I born to say, Wae's me ! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I care na to spin ; 
I daur na think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be. 
For auld Robin Gi*ay he is kind unto me. 

Lady A. Lindsay. 

CLIII. 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 
On blithe Yule night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh : 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ; 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleert and blin', 
Spak o' lovvpin' ower a linn ! 



166 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

Time and chance are but a tide, 
Slighted love is sair to bide ; 
Shall I. like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie dee ? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 

How it comes let doctors tell — 
Meg grew sick as he grew heal ; 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things ! 

Duncan was a lad o' grace ; 
Maggie's was a piteous case ; 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling j^ity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and canty baith: 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 

R. Burns. 



CLIV. 
THE SAILOR'S WIFE. 

And are ye sure the news is true ? 

And are ye sure he's weel ? 
Is this a time to think o' wark ? 

Ye jades, lay by your wheel ; 
Is this the time to spin a thread, 

When Colin's at the door ? 
Eeach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, 

And see him come ashore. 
For there's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a'. 
There's little pleasure in the house. 

When our crudeman's awa'. 



BOOK THIRD. 167 

And gle to me my bigonet, 

My bishop's satin gown ; 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 

That Colin's in the town. 
My Turkey slippers maun gae on, 

My stockin's pearly blue ; 
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, 

For he's baith leal and true. 

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, 

Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gie little Kate her button gown 

And Jock his Sunday coatj 
And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 

Their hose as white as snaw : 
It's a' to please my ain gudeman. 

For he's been long awa'. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop 

Been fed this month and mair ; 
Mak haste and thraw their necks about, 

That Colin weel may fai-e j 
And spread the table neat and clean. 

Gar ilka thing look braw ; 
For wha can tell how Colin fared 

When he was far awa' ? 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 

His breath like caller air ; 
His very foot has music in't 

As he comes up the stair : 
And will I see his face again ? 

And will I hear him speak? 
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I'm like to greet ! 

If Colin's weel, and weel content, 
I hae nae mair to crave : 



168 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And gin I live to keep him sae, 

I'm blest aboon the lave: 
And will I see his face again ? 

And will I hear him sjoeak ? 
I'm downright dizzj' Avi' the thought, 

In troth I'm like to greet. 
For there's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a', 
There's little pleasure in the house, 

When our gudeman's awa'. 

W. J. Mickle. 



CLV. 
JEAN. 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

I dearly like the West, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives. 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivei-s row. 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and lair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air ; 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green, 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 

O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft 

Amang the leafy trees ; 
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 



BOOK THIRD. 169 

And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean. 

What sighs and vows amang the knowes 

Hae pass'd atween us twa ! 
How fond to meet, how wae to part 

That night she gaed aw-a' ! 
The Powers aboon can only ken 

To whom the heart is seen, 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet lovely Jean ! 

R. Burna. 



CLVI. 

JOHN ANDERSON. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

"When we were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 

Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson ray jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither, 
And monj'- a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go. 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my jo. 

R. Burns. 



170 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CLVII. 

THE LAND 0' THE LEAL. 

I'm wearing awa', Jean, 

Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean, 

I'm wearing awa' 

To the land o' the leal. 
There's nae sori'ow there, Jean, 
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
The day is aye fair 

In the land o' the leal. 

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 
Your task's ended noo, Jean, 
And I'll welcome you 

To the land o' the leal. 
Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, 
She was baith guid and fair, Jean ; 
we grudged her right sair 
To the land o' the leal ! 

Then dry that tearfu' ee, Jean, 
My soul langs to be free, Jean, 
And angels wait on me 

To the land o' the leal. 
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 
This warld's care is vain, Jean ; 
We'll meet and aye be fain 

In the land o' the leal. 

Lady Nairn. 

CLVIII. 

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 

Yc distant spires, ye antique towers 

That crown the wat'ry glade. 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade ; 



BOOK THIRD. m 

And ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
Whose turf, whose shade, whoso flowers among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 
His silver-winding Avay: 

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! 

Ah, fields beloved in vain ! 
Where once my careless childhood stray'cl, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow. 
As waving fresh their gladsome wing 
My weary soul they seem to soothe. 
And, redolent of joy and youth. 

To breathe a second spring. 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green 

The paths of pleasure trace ; 
Who foremost now delight to cleave, 
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? 
The captive linnet which enthrall? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed 

Or urge the flying ball ? 

While some on earnest business bent 

Their murmuring labors ply 
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty : 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign, 
And unknown regions dare descry: 
Still as they run they look behind. 
They hear a voice in every wind. 

And snatch a fearful joy. 



1'72 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Gay Hope is theirs by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest ; 
The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast : 
Theirs buxom Health, of rosy hue, 
Wild Wit, Invention ever new, 
And lively Cheer, of Vigor born ; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night. 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light 
That fly th' approach of morn. 

Alas! regardless of their doom 

The little victims play ! 
No sense have they of ills to come 

Nor care beyond to-day : 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The ministers of human fate 
And black Misfortune's baleful train ! 
Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 
To seize their prey, the murderous band! 

Ah, tell them they are men I 

These shall the fury Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind. 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear. 

And Shame that skulks behind ; 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy witb rankling tooth 
That inly gnaws the secret heart, 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 
And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise, 
Then whirl the wretch from high, 

To bitter Scorn a sacrifice 
And grinning Infamy. 



BOOK THIRD. 173 

The stings of Falsehood those shall try, 
And hard Unkindness' altei-'d eye, 
That mocks the tear it forced to flow ; 
And keen Ecmorse with blood defiled, 
And moody Madness laughing wild 
Amid severest woe. 

Lo, in the Vale of Years beneath 

A grisly troop are seen, 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their Queen : 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
That every laboring sinew strains, 
Those in the deeper vitals rage : 
Lo, Poverty, lo fill the band. 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 

And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his sufferings : all are men, 

Condenin'd alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 

Th' unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, 
Since sorrow never comes too late. 
And happiness too swiftly flies ? 
Thought would destroy their paradise I 
No more ; — where ignorance is bliss, 

'Tis folly to be wise. 

T. Gray. 



CLIX. 
HYMN TO ADVERSITY. 

Daughter of Jove ! relentless power. 
Thou tamer of the human breast. 

Whose iron scourge and tortui'ing hour 
The bad aff^right, afliict the best ! 



174 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Bound in thy adamantine chain 
The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple tyrants vainly groan 
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 



When first thy Sire to send on earth 

Virtue, his darling child, design'd, 
To thee he gave the heavenly birth 

And bade to form her infant mind. 
Stern rugged Nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience manj^ a year she bore : 
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 
And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 

And leave us leisure to be good. 
Light they disperse, and with them go 
The summer Friend, the flattering Foe ; 
By vain Prosperity received. 
To her thoy vow their truth, and are again believed. 

Wisdom in sable garb array'd. 

Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 
And Melancholy, silent maid, 

With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 
Still on thy solemn steps attend : 
Warm Charity, the general friend, 
With Justice, to herself severe, 
And Pity dropping soft the sadly-jjleasing tear. 

0, gently on th}^ suppliant's head, 

Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! 

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad. 
Not circled with the vengeful band 



£00/1 THIRD. yif^ 

(As by the impious thou art seen) 
With thuudoring voice and threatening mien, 
With screaming Horror's luneral crj-, 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. 

Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear. 

Thy milder influence impart, 
Tliy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to wound my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive, 
Teach me to love and to forgive, 
Exact my own defects to scan, 
What others are to feel, and liuow myself a Man. 

T. Gray. 



CLX. 

THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK. 

I am monarch of all I survey ; 
My right there is none to dispute ; 
From the centre all round to the sea 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude ! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thj^ face? 
Better dwell in the midst of alarms 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech ; 
I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the plain 
My form with indifference see; 
They are so unacquainted Avith man. 
Their tameness is shocking: to me. 



176 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

il 

Society, Friendship, and Love, ^ 

Divinely bestow'd upon man, 

O had I the wings of a dove 

How soon would I taste you again ! 

My sorrows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and truth, 

Might learn from the wisdom of age, 

And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 

Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more : 

My friends, do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me? 

O tell me I yet have a friend. 

Though a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 
Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 
And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land 
In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But alas ! recollection at hand 
Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the seafowl is gone to her nest. 
The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest, 
And I to my cabin repair. 
There's mercy in every place, 
And mercy, encouraging thought ! 
Gives even affliction a grace 
And reconciles man to his lot. 

W. Ccnoper. 



BOOK THIRD. I77 

CLXI. 

TO MARY UNWIN. 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, 

Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drew, 

An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 

And undcbased by ]) raise of meaner things, 

That ere through age or woe I shed my wings 
I may record thy worth with honor due, 
In verse as musical as thou art true 
And that immortalizes whom it sings : — 

But thou hast little need. There is a Book 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 

A chronicle of actions just and bright — 
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mar}-, shine; 
And since thou own'st that pi'aise, I spare thee mine. 

W. Cowper. 



CLXII. 

TO THE SAME. 

The twentieth year is wellnigh past 
Since first our sky was overcast ; 
Ah, would that this might be the last! 
My Mary ! 

Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
I see thee daily weaker grow — 
'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 
My Mary ! 
12 



178 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Thy needles, once a shining store, 
For my saicc restless heretofore, 
Now rust disused, and shine no more, 
My Mary ! 

For though thou gladly Avouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still. 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 
My Mary ! 

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part^ 
And all thy threads with magic art 
Have wound themselves about this heart, 
My Mary ! 

Thy indistinct expressions seem 
' Like language utter'd in a dream ; 

Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme. 
My Mary ! 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light. 
My Mary ! 

For could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see? 
The sun would rise in vain for me, 
My Mary ! 

Partakers of thy sad decline, 
Thy hands their little force resign. 
Yet, gently press'd, press gently mine, 
My Mary ! 

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 
That now at every step thou mov'st 
Upheld by two ; yet still thou lov'st. 
My Mary ! 



BOOK THIRD. 179 

And still to love, though press'd with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still, 
My Mary ! 

But, ah ! by constant heed I know 
How oft the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
My Mary ! 

And should my futui'c lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past. 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last — 
My Mary ! 

W. Cowper. 

CLXIII. 

THE DYING MAN IN HIS GARDEN. 

Why, Damon, with the forward day 
Dost thou th}^ little spot survey, 
From tree to tree, with doubtful cheer, 
Pursue the progress of the year. 
What winds arise, what rains descend. 
When thou before that year shalt end ? 

What do thy noontide walks avail. 
To clear the leaf, and pick the snail. 
Then wantonly to death decree 
An insect usefuller than thee? 
Thou and the worm are brother-kind, 
As low, as earthy, and as blind. 

Vain wretch ! canst thou expect to see 
The downy peach make court to thee? 
Or that thy sense shall ever meet 
The bean-flower's deep-embosom'd sweet 
Exhaling with an evening blast? 
Thy evenings then will all be past ! 



180 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Thy narrow pride, th}'- fancied green 
(For vanity's in little seen), 
All must be left when Death appears, 
In spite of wishes, groans, and tears; 
Nor one of all thy ])lant8 that grow 
But Eosemary will with thee go. 

G. Sewell. 



CLXIV. 

TO-MOEROW. 

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining, 

May my lot no less fortunate be 
Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, 

And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea ; 
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, 

While I carol away idle sorrow. 
And, blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn, 

Look forward with hope for to-morrow. 

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, 

As the sunshine or rain may prevail ; 
And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, 

With a barn for the use of the flail : 
A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game. 

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow ; 
I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame, 

Nor what honors await him to-morrow. 

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely 

Secured by a neighboring hill ; 
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly 

By the sound of a murmuring rill ; 
And while peace and plenty I find at my board. 

With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, 
With my friends may I share what to-day may afford, 

And let them spread the table to-nlorrovv^ 






BOOK THIRD. 181 

And when I at last must throw off this frail covering 

Which I've worn for threescore years and ten, 
On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering, 

Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again ; 
But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, 

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow, 
As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare to-day, 

May become everlasting to-morrow. 

Collins. 

CLXV. 

Life ! I know not what thou ai*t, 
But know that thou and I must part ; 
And when, or how, or where we met 
I own to me's a secret yet. 

Life ! we've been long together 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; 
— Then steal away, give little warning. 

Choose thine own time ; 
Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime 

Bid me Good Morning. 

A. L. Barhauld. 



BOOK FOURTH. 



CLXVI. 

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. 

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, 
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: 

Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : 

— Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken; 
Or like stout Cortez — when with eagle eyes 

He stared at the Pacific, and all his men 
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — 
Silent upon a peak in Darien. 

J. Keats. 



CLXVII. 

ODE ON THE POETS. 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth, 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Have ye souls in heaven too. 
Double-lived in regions new ? 



182 



BOOK FOURTH. 183 

— Yes, and those of heaven commune 
With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
With the noise of fountains wonderous 
And the parle of voices thunderous ; 
With the whisper of heaven's trees 
And one another, in soft ease 
Seated on Elysian lawns 
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; 
Underneath large blue-bells tented, 
Where the daisies are rose-scented. 
And the rose herself has got 
Perfume which on earth is not; 
Where the nightingale doth sing 
Not a senseless, tranced thing. 
But divine melodious truth ; 
Philosophic numbers smooth ; 
Tales and golden histories 
Of heaven and its mysteries. 

Thus ye live on high, and then 

On the earth ye live again ; 

And the souls ye left behind you 

Teach us, here, the way to find you 

AVhere your other souls are joying. 

Never slumber'd, never cloying. 

Here, your earth-born souls still speak 

To mortals, of their little week ; 

Of their sori'ows and delights ; 

Of their passions and their spites ; 

Of their glory and their shame ; 

What doth strengthen, and what maim : — 

Thus ye teach us, every day. 

Wisdom, though fled far away. 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth, 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Ye have souls in heaven too, 
Double-lived in regions new ! 

J, Keats. 



184 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CLXVIII. 

LOVE. 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame. 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame. 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When midway on the mount I lay 
Beside the ruin'd tower. 

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, — my hope, my joy. 
My own dear Genevieve ! 

She lean'd against the armed man, 

The statue of the armed knight ; 

She stood and listen'd to my lay, 

Amid the lingering light. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 

I play'd a soft and doleful air, 
I sang an old and moving story,— 
An old rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 

She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
For well she knew I could not choose 
But gaze upon her face. 



BOOK FOURTH. 185 

I told her of the Knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he woo'd 
The Lady of the Land. 

I told her how he pined ; and, ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love 
Interpreted my own. 

She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
And she forgave me, that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face. 

But when I told the cruel scorn 
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den. 
And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade. 

There came and look'd him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright, 
And that he knew it was a Fiend, 
This miserable Knight ! 

And that, unknowing what he did, 
He leap'd amid a murderous band. 
And saved from outrage worse than death 
The Lady of the Land ; 

And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain, 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain ; 



186 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And that she nursed him in a cave, 
And how his madness went away, 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 
A dying man he lay ; 

— His dj'ing words — but when I reach'd 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
My faltering voice and pausing harp 
Disturb'd her soul with pity ! 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve: 
The music, and the doleful tale, 
The rich and balmy eve ; 

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope. 
An undistinguishable thi'ong, 
And gentle wishes long subdued. 
Subdued and cherish'd long! 

She wept with pity and delight, 
She blush'd with love and virgin shame ; 
And, like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved — she stepp'd aside, 
As conscious of my look she stept — 
Then suddenly, with timorous &ye, 
She fled to me and wept. 

She half enclosed me with her arms. 
She press'd me with a meek embrace. 
And, bending back her head, look'd up, 
And gazed upon my face. 

'Twas partly love, and partly fear. 
And partly 'twas a bashful art 
That I might rather feel, than see 
The swelliuir of her heart. 



BOOK FOURTH. 187 

I calm'd hei' fears, and she was calm, 
And told her love with virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous Bride. 

S. T. Coleridge. 



CLXIX. 

* / ALL FOR LOVE. 

O talk not to me of a name great in story ; 
The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; 
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty 
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 

"What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled ? 
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: 
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary — 
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory ? 

Fame ! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, 
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. 

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ; 
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee ; 
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, 

1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 

Lord Byron. 

CLXX. 

THE OUTLAW. 

O Brignall banks are wild and fair. 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there 

Would grace a summer-queen. 



188 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And as I rode by Dalton Hall 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A maiden on the castle-wall 

Was singing merrily : 
" O Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen." 

" If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me. 

To leave both tower and town, 
Thou first must guess what life lead we 

That dwell by dale and down. 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full w^ell you may. 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 

As blithe as Queen of May." 
Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods ai'e green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen. 

" I read you by your bugle-horn 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn 

To keep the king's greenwood." 
" A Ranger, lady, winds his horn. 

And 'tis a peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry morn. 

And mine at dead of night." 
Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

" With burnish'd brand and musketoon 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold dragoon 

That lists the tuck of drum." 



BOOK FOURTH. 189 

" I list no moi'e the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear ; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum 

My comrades take the spear. 
And O ! though Brignall banks be fair 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet miekle must the maiden dare 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

" Maiden ! a nameless life I- lead, 

A nameless death I'll die ! 
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I'm with my comrades met 

Beneath the greeuAvood bough, 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think Avhat we are now." 

Chorus. 

Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Gi'eta woods are green, 
And you may gather garlands there 

Would grace a summer-queen. 

Sir W. Scott. 



CLXXI. 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 

With a magic like thee ; 
And like music on the watei'S 

Is thy sweet voice to me : 
When, as if its sound were causing 
The charmed ocean's pausing, 
The waves lie still and gleaming. 
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming : 



190 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And the midnight moon is weaving 

Her bright chain o'er the deep, 
Whose breast is gently heaving 

As an infant's asleep : 
So the spirit bows before thee 
To listen and adore thee, 
With a full but soft emotion. 
Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 

Lord Byron. 



CLXXII. 

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. 

I arise from dreams of thee 

In the first sweet sleep of night. 
When the winds are breathing low 

And the stars are shining bright: 
1 arise from dreams of thee. 

And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me — who knows how ? — 

To thy chamber window. Sweet! 

The wandering airs they faint 
On the dark, the silent stream — 

The champak odors fail. 

Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 

The nightingale's complaint 
It dies upon her heart. 

As I must die on thine, 

beloved as thou art ! 

lift me from the grass ! 

1 die, I faint, I fail ! 
Let thy love in kisses rain 

On my lips and eyelids pale. 



BOOK FOURTH. 191 

My cheek is cold and white, alas ! 

My heart beats loud and fast : 
O ! press it close to thine again, 

"Where it will break at last. 

P. B. Shelley. 



CLXXIII. 

She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meets in her aspect and her eyes, 
Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impair'd the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lightens o'er her face, 
Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 

The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

But tell of days in goodness spent, — 

A mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent. 

Lord Byron. 

CLXXIV. 

She was a phantom of delight 

When first she glcam'd upon my sight ; 

A lovely apparition, sent 

To be a moment's ornament ; 

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ; 

Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 



192 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheei-ful dawn ; 
A dancing shape, an image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A spirit, yet a woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin liberty; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 

A creatui-e not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food, 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see, with eye serene. 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A traveller between life and death : 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
A perfect woman, nobly plann'd 
To waiMi, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light. 

IF. Wordsworih. 



CLXXV. 

She is not fair to outward view 

As raanj' maidens be; 
Her loveliness I never knew 

Until she smiled on me. 
O then I saw her eye was bright, 
A well of love, a spring of light. 



BOOK FOURTH. 193 

But now her looks are coj' and cold, 

To mine they ne'er reply, 
And yet I cease not to behold 

The love-light in her eye: 
Her veiy frowns are fairer far 
Than smiles of other maidens are. 

H. Coleridge. 

CLXXVI. 

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ; 

Thou needest not fear mine ; 
My spirit is too deeply laden 

Ever to burthen thine. 

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ; 

Thou needest not fear mine : 
Innocent is the heart's devotion 

With which I worship thine. 
P. B. Shelley. 

CLXXVII. 
THE LOST LOVE. 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the si^rings of Dove ; 
A maid whom there were none to praise, 

And very few to love. 

A violet b}' a mossy stone, 

Half hidden from the eye ! 
— Fair as a star, when only one 

Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be ; 
But she is in her grave, and, oh ! 
The diflFerence to me ! 

W. Wordsworth. 
13 



194 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 



CLXXVIII. 

I travell'd among unknown men 

In lands beyond the sea ; 
Nor, England ! did I know till then 

What love I bore to thee. 

"fis past, that melancholy dream ! 

Nor will I quit thy shore 
A second time, for still I seem 

To love thee more and more. 

Among thy mountains did I feel 

The joy of my desire ; 
And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel 

Beside an English fire. 

Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd, 
The bowers where Lucy play'd ; 

And thine too is the last green field 
That Lucy's eyes survey'd. 

W. Wordsworth. 

CLXXIX. 

THE EDUCATION OF NATURE. 

Three years she grew in sun and shower; 
Then Nature said, " A lovelier flower 

On earth was never sown : 
This child I to myself will take; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 

A lady of my own. 

" Myself will to my darling be 
Both law and impulse ; and with me 

The girl, in I'ock and plain, 
In eai'th and heaven, in glade and bower, 
Shall feel an overseeing power 

To kindle or restrain. 



BOOK FOURTH. 195 

" She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 

Or up the mountain springs ; 
And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
And hers the silence and the calm 

Of mute insensate things. 

" The floating clouds their state shall lend 
To her ; for her the willow bend ; 

Nor shall she fail to see 
E'en in the motions of the storm 
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 

By silent sympathy. 

"The stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her ; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 
Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face. 

" And vital feelings of delight 

Shall rear her form to stately height, 

Her virgin bosom swell ; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
"While she and I together live 

Here in this happy dell. " 

Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 
How soon my Lucj^'s race was run ! 

She died, and left to me 
This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 
The memory of what has been, 

And never more will be. 

W. Wordsworth. 



196 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 



CLXXX. 

A slumber did my spirit seal ; 

I had no human fears : 
She seem'd a thing that could not feel 

The touch of earthly years. 

No motion has she now, no force ; 

She neither hears nor sees; 
Eoll'd round in earth's diurnal course 

With rocks, and stones, and trees ! 
W. Wordsworth. 



CLXXXI. 

LORD ULLTN'S DAUGHTER. 

A chieftain to the Highlands bound 
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! 

And I'll give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry !" 

" Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ?" 

" O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. 

" And fast before her father's men 
Three days we've fled together, 

For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 

"His hoi'semen hard behind us ride — 
Should they our steps discover. 

Then who will cheer my bonny bride 
When they have slain her lover ?" 



BOOK FOURTH. 197 

Out spoke the hiirdy Highland wight : 

" I'll go, my chief, I'm ready ; 
It is not for your silver bright, 

But for your winsome lady : — 

"And, by my word! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So, though the waves are raging white, 

I'll row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 

The water- wraith was shrieking ; 
And in the scowl of heaven each face 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind. 

And as the night grew drearer, 
Adown the glen rode armed men, 

Their trampling sounded nearer. 

" O haste thee, haste !" the lady cries, 

" Though tempests round us gather; 
I'll meet the raging of the skies. 

But not an angry father." 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
When, O ! too strong for human hand 

The tempest gather'd o'er her. 

And still they row'd amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing : 
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — 

His wrath was changed to wailing. 

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade 

His child he did discover : — 
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 



198 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

"Come back! come back !" he cried in ffrief, 

"Across this stormy water; 
And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 

My daughter ! — O my daughter I" 

'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore, 

Return or aid preventing : 
The waters wild went o'er his child, 

And he was left lamenting. 

T. Campbell. 



CLXXXII. 
JOCK 0' HAZELDEAN. 

" Why weep ye b}'- the tide, ladie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son", 

And ye sail be his bride : 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

" JS"ow let this wilfu' grief be done, 

And dry that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 

His sword in battle keen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

" A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 
Nor braid to bind your hair, 

Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 
Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 



BOOK FOURTH. 199 

And you the foremost o' them a' 

Shall ride our forest-queen" — 
But aj'e she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 

The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 

And dame and knight are there : 
They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 

The ladie was not seen ! 
She's o'er the Border, and awa' 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 

Sb- W. Scott. 



CLXXXIII. 

FREEDOM AND LOVE. 

How delicious is the winning 
Of a kiss at love's beginning, 
When two mutual hearts are sighing 
For the knot there's no untying! 

Yet remember, 'midst your wooing. 
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing ; 
Other smiles may make you fickle, 
Tears for other charms may trickle. 

Love he comes, and Love he tarries. 
Just as fate or fancy carries ; 
Longest stays, when sorest chidden ; 
Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden. 

Bind the sea to slumber stilly. 
Bind its odor to the lil}^ 
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, 
Then bind Love to last for ever. 



200 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Love'8 a fire that needs renewal 

Of fresh beauty for its fuel : 

Love's wing moults when caged and captured, 

Only free, he soars enraptured. 

Can you keep the bee from ranging, 
Or the ringdove's neck from changing? 
No ! nor fetter'd Love from dying 
In the knot there's no untying. 

T. Campbell. 



CLXXXIV. 

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

The fountains mingle with the river, 

And the rivers with the ocean. 
The winds of heaven mix for ever 

With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the woi'ld is single. 

All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle — 

Why not I with thine ? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister-flower would be forgiven 

If it disdain'd its brother : 
And the sunlight clasps the earth. 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea — 
What are all these kissings worth. 

If thou kiss not me ? 

P. B. Shelley. 



BOOK FOURTH. 201 

CLXXXV. 

ECHOES. 

How sweet the answei- Echo makes 

To Music at night 
When, roused by lute oi* horn, she wakes, 
And far away o'er lawns and lakes 

Goes answering light ! 

Yet Love hath echoes truer far 

And far more sweet 
Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, 
Of horn or lute or soft guitar 

The songs repeat. 

'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere 

And only then, 
The sigh that's breathed for one to hear — 
Is by that one, that only Dear 

Breathed back again. 

T. Moore. 



CLXXXVI. 

A SERENADE. 

Ah ! County Gruy, the hour is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea, 
The orange-flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark, his lay who trill'd all day. 

Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,- 

But where is County Guy ? 



202 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

The village maid steals through the shade 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To Beauty shj^, by lattice high, 

Sings high-born cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above, 

Now reigns o'er earth and sky, 
And high and low the influence know — 

But where is County Guy? 

Sir W. Scott. 



CLXXXVII. 

TO THE P:VENING STAR. 

Gem of the crimson-coloi"'d Even, 

Companion of retiring day. 
Why at the closing gates of heaven, 

Beloved Star, dost thou delay ? 

So fair thy pensile beauty burns 

When soft the tear of twilight flows ; 

So due thy plighted love I'eturns 
To chambers brighter than the rose; 

To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love 
So kind a star thou seem'st to be. 

Sure some enamour'd orb above 

Descends and burns to meet with thee ! 

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour 
When all unheavenly passions fly, 

Chased by the soul-subduing power 
Of Love's delicious witchery. 

O ! sacred to the fall of day, 

Queen of propitious stars, appear. 

And early i-ise, and long delay. 
When Caroline herself is here ! 



BOOK FOURTH. 203 

Shine on her chosen green resort, 

"Whose trees the sunward summit crown, 

And wanton flowers, that well may court 
An angel's feet to tread them down : — 

Shine on her sweetly-scented road, 

Thou star of evening's purple dome, 
That lead'st the nightingale abroad, 

And guid'st the pilgrim to his home. 

Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath 

Embalms the soft exhaling dew, 
Where dying winds a sigh bequeath 

To kiss the cheek of rosy hue : — 

Where, winnow'd by the gentle air, 

Her silken tresses darkly flow 
And fall upon her brow so fair, 

Like shadows on the mountain snow. 

Thus, ever thus, at day's decline. 

In converse sweet to wander far — 
O bring with thee my Caroline, 

And thou shalt be my Euling Star ! 

T. Campbell. 



CLXXXVIII. 

TO THE NIGHT. 

Swiftly walk over the western wave, 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave 
Where all the long and lone daylight 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
Which make thee terrible and dear — 
Swift be thy flight I 



204 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray 

Star-inwrought ! 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out, 
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long-sought ! 

When I arose and saw the dawn, 

I sigh'd for thee ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
And the weary Day tui*n'd to his rest, 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 

I sigh'd for thee. 

Thy brother Death came, and ci'ied, 
Wouldst thou me ? 

Thy sweet child vSleep, the filmy-eyed, 

Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee, 

Shall I nestle near thy side ? 

Wouldst thou me ? — And I replied, 
No, not thee ! 

Death will come when thou art dead. 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight. 

Come soon, soon ! 

P. B. Shelley. 



BOOK FOURTH. 205 

CLXXXIX. 

TO A DISTANT FRIEND. 

"Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant 
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
Of absence withers what was once so fair? 
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? 

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, 
Bound to thy service with unceasing care — 
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
For naught but what thy happiness could spare. 

Speak ! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold 
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 

Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know! 

W. Wordsworth. 

cxc. 

"When we two parted 

In silence and tears, 
Half broken-hearted, 

To sever for years, 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 

Colder thy kiss : 
Truly that hour foretold 

Sorrow to this ! 

The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow ; 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feel now. 



206 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Thy VOWS are all broken, 
And light is thy fame : 
I bear thy name spoken 
■• And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 

A knell to mine ear ; 
A shudder comes o'er me — 

Why wert thou so dear ? 
They know not I knew thee 

Who knew thee too well : 
Long, long shall I rue thee 

Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met : 

In silence I grieve 
That thy heart could forget, 

Thy spirit deceive. 
If I should meet thee 

After long years, 
How should I greet thee ? — 

With silence and tears. 

Lord Byron. 



CXCI. 

HAPPY INSENSIBILITY. 

In a drear-nighted December, 

Too happy, happy Tree, 
Thy branches ne'er remember 

Their gi-een felicity : 
The north cannot undo them 
With a sleety whistle through them. 
Nor frozen thawings glue them 

From budding at the prime. 



BOOK FOURTH. 207 

In a drear-nighted December, 

Too happy, happy Brook, 
Thy bubblings ne'er remember 

Apollo's summer look ; 
But with a sweet forgetting 
They stay their crystal fretting, 
Never, never petting 

About the frozen time. 

Ah, would 'twere so with many 

A gentle girl and boy ! 
But were there ever any 

Writhed not at passed joy ? 
To know the change and feel it, 
When there is none to heal it 
Nor numbed sense to steal it — 

Was never said in rhyme. 
J. Keats. 



. CXCII. 

Where shall the lover rest 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast 

Parted for ever ? 
Where through gi-ovcs deep and high 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where eai'ly violets die 

Under the willow. 
Eleu loro, 

Soft shall be his pillow. 

There through the summer day 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 
There thy rest shalt thou take, 

Parted for ever, 



208 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Nevei- again to wake, 
Never, O never! 

Eleu loi-o, 
Never, O never! 

Where shall the ti'aitor rest. 

He, the deceiver. 
Who could win maiden's breast, 

Euin, and leave her? 
In the lost battle. 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying, 
Eleu loro, 

There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap 

Ere life be parted : 
Shame and dishonor sit 

By his grave ever; 
Blessing shall hallow it 

Never, O never! 
Eleu loro, 

Never, O never ! 

Sir W. Scott. 



CXCIII. 
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCL 

" O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
Alone and palely loitering ? 

The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 
And no birds siner. 



BOOK FOURTH. £09 

" O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 

So haggard and so woe- begone ? 
The squirrel's granary is full, 

And the harvest's done. 

" I see a lily on thy brow 

With anguish moist and fever dew, 
And on thy cheeks a fading rose 

Fast withereth too." 

" I met a lady in the meads, 

Full beautiful — a fairy's child. 
Her hair was long, her foot was light, 

And her eyes were wild. 

" I made a garland for her head. 
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 

She look'd at me as she did love. 
And made sweet moan. 

" I set her on my pacing steed 

And nothing else saw all day long, 
For sidelong would she bend, and sing 

A fairy's song. 

" She found me roots of relish sweet, 

And honey wild, and manna-dew, 
And sure in language strange she said, 

' I love thee true.' 

" She took me to her elfin grot. 
And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, 

And there I shut her wild wild eyes 
With kisses four. 

" And there she lulled me asleep, 

And there I dream 'd — Ah ! woe betide! 

The latest dream I ever dream'd 
On the cold hill's side. 
14 



210 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

" I saw pale kings and princes too, 

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 

They cried, 'La belle Dame sans Merci 
Hath thee in thrall !' 

" I saw their starved lips in the gleam 
With horrid warning gaped wide, 

And 1 awoke and found rne here 
On the cold hill's side. 

" And this is why I sojourn here 

Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake 

And no birds sing." 

J. Keats. 



CXCIV. 
THE ROVER. 

" A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weaiy lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to bi'aid, 

And press the rue for wine. 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green — 

No more of me you knew, 
My Love ! 

No more of me you knew. 

" The morn is merry June, I trow. 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake 

Upon the river shore. 



BOOK FOURTH. 211 

He gave the bridle-reins a shake, 
Said, " Adieu for evermore, 
My Love ! 
And adieu for evermore." 

Sir W. Scott. 



cxcv. 
THE FLIGHT OF LOVE. 

When the lamp is sbatter'd, 

The light in the dust lies dead ; 
When the cloud is scatter'd. 

The rainbow's glory is shed; 
When the lute is broken, 

Sweet tones are remember'd not ; 
When the lips have spoken, 

Loved accents are soon forgot. 

As music and splendor 

Survive not the lamp and the lute. 
The heart's echoes render 

No song when the spirit is mute, — 
No song but sad dirges, 

Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, 
Or the mournful surges 

That ring the dead seaman's knell. 

When hearts have once mingled. 

Love first leaves the well-built nest ; 
The weak one is singled 

To endure what it once possesst. 
O Love ! who bcwailest 

The frailty of all things here. 
Why choose you the frailest 

For your cradle, your home, and your bier? 



212 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Its passions will rock thee 

As the storms rock the ravens on high ; 
Bright reason will mock thee 

Like the sun from a wintry sky. 
From thy nest every rafter 

Will rot, and thine eagle home 
Leave thee naked to laughter, 

When leaves fall and cold winds come. 

P. B. Shelley. 

CXCVI. 

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 

O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing; 
And love, in life's extremity, 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower, 

And slow decay from mourning. 
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower 

To watch her Love's returning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 

Her form decay'd by pining. 
Till through her wasted hand, at night. 

You saw the taper shining. 
By fits a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek was flying ; 
By fits so ashy pale she grew 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 

Seem'd in her frame residing ; 
Before the watch- dog prick'd his ear 

She heard her lover's riding ; 
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd 

She knew and waved to greet him. 
And o'er the battlement did bend 

As on the wintr to meet him. 



BOOK FOURTH. 213 

He came — he pass'd — a heedless gaze, 

As o'er some stranger glancing; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 

Lost in his courser's prancing — 
The castle-arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken. 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 

Which told her heart was broken. 

Sir W. Scott. 



CXCVII. 

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 

Earl March look'd on his dying child, 
And smit with grief to view her. 

" The youth," he cried, " whom I exiled 
Shall be restored to woo her." 

She's at the window many an hour 

His coming to discover : 
And he look'd up to Ellen's bower. 

And she look'd on her lover. 

But ah ! so pale, he knew her not, 

Though her smile on him was dwelling: 

" And am I then forgot — forgot ?" 
It broke the heart of Ellen. 

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, 

Her cheek is cold as ashes ; 
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 

To lift their silken lashes. 

T. Campbell. 



214 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 



CXCVIII. 

Bright Star ! w^ould I were steadfast as thou art- 
Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night, 
And watching, with eternal lids apart. 
Like nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 

The moving waters at their priest-like task 
Of pure ablution I'ound earth's human shores, 
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask 
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors : — 

No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 
Pillow'd upon ray fair Love's ripening breast, 
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell. 
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; 

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. 

J. Keats. 

CXCIX. 

THE TERROR OF DEATH. 

When I have fears that I may cease to be 
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, 
Before high-piled books in charact'jy 
Hold like rich garnei's the full-ripen'd grain ; 

"When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 
Huge cloudy sj^mbols of a high romance. 
And think that I may never live to trace 
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance ; 

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! 
That I shall never look upon thee more, 
Never have relish in the fairy power 
Of unreflecting love, — then on the shore 



BOOK FOURTH. 215 

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think, 
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 

J. Keats. 



CC. 

DESIDERIA. 

Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind — 
I turn'd to share the transport — with whom 
But thee — deep buried in the silent tomb, 
That spot which no vicissitude can find ? 

Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind — 
But how could I forget thee ? through what power 
Even for the least division of an hour 
Have I been so beguiled -as to be blind 

To my most grievous loss ?— That thought's return 
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore 
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, 

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; 
That neither present time, nor years unborn, 
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 

W. Wordsioorth. 

CCI. 

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly 
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; 
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there 
And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky ! 

Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear. 
When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear; 
And as Echo far off through the vale m}" sad orison rolls, 
I think, O my Love ! "tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls 
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. 

T. Moore. 



216 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

ecu. 
ELEGY ON THYRZA. 

And thou art dead, as young and fair 

As aught of mortal birth ; 
And forms so soft and charms so rare 

Too soon return'd to Earth ! 
Though Earth received them in her bed, 
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 

In carelessness or mirth, 
There is an eye which could not brook 
A moment on that grave to look. 

I will not ask where thou liest low, 

Nor gaze upon the spot ; 
There flowers or weeds at will may grow 

So I behold them not: 
It is enough for me to prove 
That what I loved and long must love 

Like common earth can rot : 
To me there needs no stone to tell 
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. 

Yet did I love thee to the last, 

As fervently as thou, 
Who didst not change through all the past 

And canst not alter now. 
The love where Death has set his seal 
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 

Nor falsehood disavow : 
And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
Or wrong, or change, or fault, in me. 

The better days of life were ours ; 

The worst can be but mine : 
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours, 

Shall never more be thine. 



BOOK FOURTH. 217 

The silence of that dreamless sleep 
I envy now too much to weep ; 

Nor need I to repine 
That all those charms have pass'd away 
I might have watch'd through long decay. 

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd 

Must fall the earliest prey ; 
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, 

The leaves must drop away. 
And yet it were a greater grief 
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, 

Than see it pluck'd to-day ; 
Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
To trace the change to foul from fair. 

I know not if I could have borne 

To see thy beauties fade ; 
The night that foUow'd such a morn 

Had worn a deeper shade : 
Thy day without a cloud hath past, 
And thou wert lovely to the last, 

Extinguish'd, not dccay'd ; 
As stars that shoot along the sky 
Shine brightest as they fall from high. 

As once I wept if I could weep, 

My tears might well be shed 
To think I was not near, to keep 

One vigil o'er thy bed : 
To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, 
To fold thee in a faint embrace. 

Uphold thy drooping head, 
And show that love, however vain, 
Nor thou nor I can feel again. 

Yet how much less it were to gain. 
Though thou hast left me free, 



218 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The loveliest things that still remain 

Than thus remember thee ! 
The all of thine that cannot die 
Through dark and dread Eternity 

Eeturns again to me, 
And more thy buried love endears 
Than aught except its living years. 

Lord Byron. 

\ 

At 

CCIII. 

One word is too often profaned 

For me to profane it, 
One feeling too falsely disdain'd 

For thee to disdain it. 
One hope is too like despair 

For prudence to smother, 
And pity from thee more dear 

Than that from another. 

I can give not what men call love ; 

But wilt thou accept not 
The worship the heart lifts above 

And the Heavens reject not, — 
The desire of the moth for the star, 

Of the night for the morrow. 
The devotion to something afar 

From the sphere of our sorrow ? 

P. B. Shelley. 



CCIV. 
GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK. 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
"Wake thy wild voice anew. 

Summon Clan Conuil. 



BOOK FOURTH. 219 

Come awaj^, come awaj^, 

Hark to the summons ! 
Come in your war-array, 

Gentles and commons. 



Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky ; 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlocky. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one ; 
Come every steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears one. 

Leave untended the herd. 

The flock without shelter ; 
Leave the corpse unintcrr'd, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer. 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with jonv fighting gear. 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended. 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come. 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom, 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle plume 

Blended with heather. 



220 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 
Forward each man set ! 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
Knell for the onset ! 

Sir W. Scott. 



ccv. 

A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

A wind that follows fast 
And fills the white and rustling sail 

And bends the gallant mast ; 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys. 

While like the eagle free 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 

O for a soft and gentle wind ! 

I heard a fair one cr}' ; 
But give to me the snoring breeze 

And white waves heaving high ; 
A.nd white waves heaving high, mj^ lads, 

The good ship tight and free — 
The world of waters is our home. 

And merry men are we. 

There's tempest in yon horned moon. 

And lightning in yon cloud ; 
But hark the music, mariners! 

The wind is piping loud ; 
The wind is piping loud, my boys. 

The lightning flashes free — 
While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. 

A. Cunningham. 



BOOK FOURTH. 221 



CCVI. 



Ye mariners of England, 
That guard our native seas ! 
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 
The battle and the breeze ! 
Your glorious standard launch again 
To match another foe : 
And sweep through the deep. 
While the stormy winds do blow ; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
. And the stormy winds do blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave — 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And ocean was their grave : 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 

Your manly hearts shall glow. 

As ye sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy winds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

Bxntannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep ; 

Her march is o'er the mountain waves. 

Her home is on the deep. 

With thunders from her native oak 

She quells the floods below— 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy winds do blow ; 

When the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

The meteor flag of England 
Shall yet terrific burn, 



222 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Till danger's troubled night depart 
And the star of peace return. 
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors, 
Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name, 
When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
"When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
And the storm has ceased to blow. 

T. Campbell. 

CCVII. 

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 

Of Nelson and the North 

Sing the glorious day's renown. 

When to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark's crown, 

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; 

By each gun the lighted brand 

In a bold determined hand, 

And the Prince of all the land 

Led them on. 

^^V,^^ Like leviathans afloat 

Lay their bulwarks on the brine; 

While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line : 

It was ten of April morn by the chime : 

As they drifted on their path 

There was silence deep as death ; 

And the boldest held his breath 

For a time. 

But the might of England flush'd 
To anticipate the scene ; 
And her van the fleeter rush'd 
O'er the deadly space between. 



BOOK FOURTH. 223 

" Hearts of oak I" our captains cried, when each gun 

From its adamantine lips 

Spread a death-shade round the ships, 

Like the hurricane eclipse 

Of the sun. 

Again ! again ! again ! 

And the havoc did not slack. 

Till a feeble cheer the Dane 

To our cheering sent us back ; — 

Their shots along the deep slowly boom : — ■ 

Then ceased — and all is wail. 

As they strike the shatter'd sail, 

Or in conflagration pale 

Light the gloom. 

Out spoke the victor then, 

As he hail'd them o'er the wave : 

" Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 

And we conquer but to save : — 

So peace instead of death let us bring : 

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet. 

With the crews, at England's feet, 

And make submission meet 

To our King." 

Then Denmark blest our chief 

That he gave her wounds repose ; 

And the sounds of joy and grief 

From her people wildly rose. 

As death withdrew his shades from the day; 

While the sun look'd smiling bright 

O'er a wide and woful sight, 

Where the fires of funeral light 

Died awa3^ 

Now joy, old England, raise! 
For the tidings of thy might. 



224 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

By the festal cities' blaze, 

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; 

And yet amidst that joy and uproar 

Let us think of them that sleep 

Full many a fathom deep 

By thy wild and stormy steep, 

Elsinore ! 

Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride 

Once so faithful and so true, 

On the deck of fame that died 

With the gallant good Riou : 

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave ! 

While the billow mournful rolls, 

And the mermaid's song condoles, 

Singing glory to the souls 

Of the brave ! 

T. Campbell. 



covin. 

ODE TO DUTY. 

Stern Daughter of the voice of God ! 
O Duty ! if that name thou love 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove ; 
Thou who art victory and law 
When empty terrors overawe ; 
From vain temptations dost set free, 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity ! 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them ; who, in love and truth 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 



BOOK FOURTH. 225 

Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot, 
Who do thy work, and know it not : 
O ! if through confidence misplaced 
They fail, thy" saving arms, dread Power! around them cast. 

Serene will be our days and bright 
And happy will our nature be 
When love is an unerring light, 
And joy its own security. 
And they a blissful course may hold 
Ev'n now who, not unwisely bold, 
Live in the spirit of this creed. 
Yet find that other strength, according to their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried, 
ISTo sport of every random gust, 
Yet being to myself a guide, 
Too blindly have reposed my trust : 
And oft, when in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd 
The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul 
Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
I supplicate for thy control, 
But in the quietness of thought : 
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires ; 
I feel the weight of chance desires : 
M}^ hopes no more must change their name ; 
I long for a repose which ever is the same. 

Stern lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace; 
Kor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face : 
15 



226 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong, 
And the most ancient Heavens, through thee, are fresh and 
strong. 

To humbler functions, awful Power ! 
I call thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
O let my weakness have an end ! 
Give unto me, made lowly wise. 
The spirit of self-sacrifice; 
The confidence of reason give ; 
And in the light of Truth thy bondman let me live. 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCIX. 

ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON. 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind I 
Brightest in dungeons. Liberty, thou art — 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 
The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd. 
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 

Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, 

Until his very steps have left a trace 

Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 

By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface I 

For they appeal from tyranny to God. 

Lord Byron. 



BOOK FOURTH. 227 

CCX. 

ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802. 

Two Voices are there, — one is of the Sea, 
One of the Mountains, each a mighty voice : 
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice. 
They were thy chosen music, Liberty ! 

There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 
Thou fought'st against him, — but hast vainly striven ; 
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven 
Where not a torrent murmurs heard b}'^ thee. 

— Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft; 
Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left — 
For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be 

That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
And Ocean bellow from his rock}^ shore, 
And neither awful Voice be heard by thee ! 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCXI. 

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC. 

Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee, 
And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth 
Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
Venice, the eldest child of liberty. 

She was a maiden city, bright and free; 
No guile seduced, no force could violate ; 
And when she took unto herself a mate. 
She must espouse the everlasting Sea. 



228 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And what if she had seen those glories fade, 
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay, — 
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 

When her long life hath reach'd its final clay : 
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade 
Of that which once was great has pass'd away. 

W. Woi'dsworth. 

CCXII. 

LONDON, MDCCCII. 

O Friend ! I know not which way I must look 

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest 

To think that now our life is only drest 

For show ; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook, 

Or groom ! — We must run glittering like a brook 
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; 
The wealthiest man among us is the best : 
No grandeur now in Nature or in book 

Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 
This is idolatry; and these we adoi-e: 
Plain living and high thinking are no more : 

The homely beauty of the good old cause 
Is gone : our peace, our feai'ful innocence, 
And pure religion breathing household laws. 

W. Wordsworth. 

CCXIII. 

THE SAME. 

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : 
England hath need of thee : she is a ^qw 
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 



BOOK FOURTH. 229 

Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men : 
O! raise us up, return to us again ; 
And give us manners, virtue, Ireedom, power. 

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: 

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, 

Pui-e as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; 

So didst thou travel on life's common way 
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCXIV. 

When I have home in memory what has tamed 
Great nations, how ennobling thoughts depart 
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
Tlie student's bower for gold, — some feai's unnamed 

I had, my Country ! — am I to be blamed ? 
But when I think of thee, and what thou art, 
Verily, in the bottom of my heart 
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 

For dearly must we prize thee ; we who find 
In thee a bulwark of the cause of men ; 
And I by my aff'ection was beguiled : 

What wonder if a Poet now and then, 
Among the many movements of his mind, 
Felt for thee as a lover or a child ? 

W. Wordsworth. 



230 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCXV. 

HOHENLINDEN. 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to lioht 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast array'd, 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neigh 'd 
To join the di-eadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; 
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ; 
And, louder than the bolts of heaven. 
Far flash'd the red artillery. 

But redder yet that light shall glow 
On Linden's hills of stained snow ; 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

'Tis mom ; but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
Shout in their sulphurous canop}^ 

The combat deepens. On, ye Brave, 
Who rush to glor}", or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich, all th}^ banners wave. 
And charge with all thy chivalry! 



BOOK FOURTH. 231 

Few, few shall part, where many meet ! 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet. 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall bo a soldier's sepulchre. 

T. Campbell. 



CCXVI. 
AFTER BLENHEIM. 

It was a summer evening, 
Old Kaspar's woi'k was done. 

And he before his cottage door 
Was sitting in the sun ; 

And by him sported on the green 

His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 
EoU something large and round 

Which he beside the rivulet 
In playing there had found ; 

He came to ask what he had found 

That was so large and smooth and i-ound. 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 

Who stood expectant b}- ; 
And then the old man shook his head, 

And, with a natural sigh, 
" 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 
" Who fell in the great victory. 

" I find them in the garden, 

For there's many hereabout ; 
And often when I go to plough 

The ploughshare turns them out. 
For many thousand men," said he, 
" Were slain in that great victory." 



232 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

''Now tell US what 'twas all about," 

Young Peterkin he cries; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
" Now tell us all about the war, 
And what they fought each other for." 

" It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
"Who put the French to rout; 

But what they fought each other for 
I could not well make out. 

But everj^body said," quoth he, 

" That 'twas a famous victory. 

" My father lived at Blenheim then. 
Yon little stream hard by ; 

They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 
And he was Ibrced to fly : 

So with his wife and child he fled, 

N"or had he where to rest his head. 

" With fire and sword the country round 
Was wasted far and wide, 

And many a childing mother then 
And new-born baby died : 

But things like that, you know, must be 

At every famous victory. 

" They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won : 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun : 
But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 

" Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won. 
And our good Prince Eugene ;" 

"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" 
Said little Wilhelmine ; 



BOOK FOURTH. 233 

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, 
" It was a famous victory. 

" And everybody praised the Duke 

Who this great fight did win." 
'' But what good came of it at last ?" 

Quoth little Peterkin : — 
'• Why, that I cannot tell," said he, 
" But 'twas a famous victory." 

It. Houthey. 



CCXVII. 

PRO PATRIA MORI. 

When he who adores thee has left but the name 

Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
O ! say, wilt thou weep when they darken the fame 

Of a life that for thee was resign'd ? 
Yes, weep, and, however my foes may condemn, 

Thy tears shall efface their decree ; 
For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 

Every thought of my reason was thine : 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine ! 
O ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 

The days of th}- glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 

T. Moore. 



234 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCXVIII. 
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT CORUNNA. 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corpse to the rampart we hui'ried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning, 
By the struggling moonbeams' misty light 

And the lantern dimly bui-ning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast. 

Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him, 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow, 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead. 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hoUow'd his narrow bed 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 

In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done. 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 



BOOK FOURTH. 235 

Slowly and sadly we laid iiim down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — 
But we left him alone with his glory. 

a Wolfe. 



CCXIX. 

SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN. 

Fn the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, 
An old man dwells, a little man, 
I've heard he once was tall. 
Full five-and-thirty years he lived 
A running huntsman merry ; 
And still the centre of his cheek 
Is red as a ripe cherry. 

No man like him the horn could sound, 

And hill and valley rang with glee. 

When Echo bandied round and round 

The halloo of Simon Lee. 

In those proud days he little cared 

For husbandry or tillage ; 

To blither tasks did Simon rouse 

The sleepers of the village. 

He all the country could outrun, 

Could leave both man and horse behind ; 

And often, ere the chase was done, 

He recl'd and was stone-blind. 

And still there's something in the world 

At which his heart rejoices ; 

For when the chiming hounds are out, 

He dearly loves their voices. 



236 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

But O the heavy change ! — bereft 

Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see 

Old Simon to the world is left 

In liveried poverty : 

His master's dead, and no one now 

Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ; 

Men, dogs, and hoi'ses, all are dead ; 

He is the sole survivor. 

And he is lean, and he is sick, 

His body dwindled and awry 

Eests upon ankles swoln and thick ; 

His legs are thin and dry. 

He has no son, he has no child ; 

His wife, an aged woman, 

Lives with him, near the waterfall, 

Upon the village common. 

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, 
Not twenty paces from the door, 
A scrap of land they have, but they 
Are poorest of the poor. 
This scrap of land he from the heath 
Enclosed when he was stronger; 
But what avails the land to them 
Which he can till no longer? 

Oft, working by her husband's side, 

Euth does what Simon cannot do; 

For she, with scanty cause for pride, 

Is stouter of the two. 

And, though you with your utmost skill 

From labor could not wean them, 

'Tis little, very little, all 

That they can do between them. 

Few months of life has he in store, 
As he to you will tell, 



BOOK FOURTH. 237 

For still, the more he works, the more 
Do his weak ankles swell. 
My gentle reader, I perceive 
How patiently you've waited, 
And now I fear that you expect 
Some tale will be related. 

O reader! had you in your mind 
Such stores as silent thought can bring, 

gentle reader ! you would find 
A talc in everything. 

What more I have to say is short, 
And you must kindly take it : 
It is no tale ; but, should you think, 
Perhaps a tale you'll make it. 

One summer da}' I chanced to see 
This old man doing all he could 
To unearth the root of an old tree, 
A stump of rotten wood. 
The mattock totter'd in his hand ; 
So vain was his endeavor 
That at the root of the old tree 
He might have work'd for ever. 

" You're overtask'd, good Simon Lee ; 
Give me your tool," to him I said ; 
And at the word right gladly he 
Received my proflf'cr'd aid. 

1 struck, and with a single blow 
The tangled root I scver'd, 

At which the poor old man so long 
And vainly had endeavor'd. 

The tears into his eyes were brought. 
And thanks and praises seera'd to run 
So fast out of his heart, I thought 
They never would have done. 



238 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

— I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds 
With coldness still returning ; 
Alas ! the gratitude of men 
Has oftener left me mourning. 

W. Wordsioorth. 



ccxx. 

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. 

I have had playmates, I have had companions 

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days ; 

All, all ai'e gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a Love once, fairest among women : 
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man : 
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; 
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, 
Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, 
Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 

Friend of ray bosom, thou more than a brother, 
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? 
So might we talk of the old familiar faces. 

How some they have died, and some they have left me, 
And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

C. Lamb. 



BOOK FOURTH. 23?» 

CCXXI. 
THE JOURNEY ONWARDS. 

As slow our ship hei' foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear isle 'twas leaving. 
So loath we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us ; 
So turn our hearts, as on we rove, 
. To those we've left behind us! 

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years 

We talk with joyous seeming— 
With smiles that might as well be tears, 

So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
O, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us ! 

And when in other climes we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting. 
Where all looks flowery wild and sweet, 

And naught but love is wanting. 
We think how great had been our bliss 

If Heaven had but assign'd us 
To live and die in scenes like this. 

With some we've left behind us ! 

As travellers oft look back at eve 

When eastward darkly going, 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

Still faint behind them glowing,— 



240 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consign'd us, 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 

T. Moore. 

CCXXII. 

YOUTH AND AGE. 

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away 
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decaj^ ; 
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so 

fast, 
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere j^outh itself be past. 

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness 
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : 
The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain 
The shore to which their shivei''d sail shall never stretch again. 

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; 
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dai'e not dream its own ; 
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, 
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. 

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the 

breast, 
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of 

rest, 
'Tis but as ivj'-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe. 
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath, 

O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, 

Or weep as I could once have wept o'er man}^ a vanish'd scene, — 

As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they 

be, 
So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me! 

Lord Byron. 



BOOK FOURTH. 241 

CCXXIII. 
A LESSON. 

There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine, 

That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain. 

And the first moment that the sun may shine, 
Briffht as the sun himself, 'tis out aarain ! 



When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 
Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, 

Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm 
In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. 

But lately, one rough day, this flower I past, 
And recognized it, though an alter'd form, 

Now standing forth an offering to the blast. 
And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 

I stopp'd, and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, 

" It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold ; 

This neither is its courage nor its choice, 
But its necessity in being old. 

" The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew ; 

It cannot help itself in its decay ; 
Stifl^" in its members, wither'd, changed of hue," 

And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray. 

To be a prodigal's favorite — then, worse truth, 

A miser's pensioner — behold our lot ! 
O Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth 

Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! 

W. Wordsworth. 

16 



242 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCXXIV. 
PAST AND PRESENT. 

I remember, I remember 

The house where I was born, 
The little window where the sun 

Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon 

Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now, I often wish the night 

Had borne my breath away. 

I remember, I remember 

The roses, red and white, 
The violets, and the lily-cups — 

Those flowers made of light! 
The lilacs where the robin built, 

And where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birthday, — 

The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing, 
And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing; 
My spirit flew in feathers then 

That is so heavy now, 
And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow. 

I remember, I remember 
The fir-trees dark and high ; 

I used to think their slender tops 
Were close against the sky : 

It was a childish ignorance. 
But now 'tis little joy 



BOOK FOURTH. 243 

To know I'm farther off from heaven 
Than when I was a boy. 

T. Hood. 

ccxxv. 

THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 

Oft in the stilly night, 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me : 
The smiles, the tears, 
Of boyhood's years, 
The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone, 
Now dimm'd and gone, 
The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
Thus in the stilly night, 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends so link'd together 
I've seen around me fall. 

Like leaves in wintry weather, 
I feel like one 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted, 
Whose lights are fled. 
Whose garlands dead, 
And all but he departed ! 
Thus in the stilly night. 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

T. Moore. 



244 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCXXVI. 
INVOCATION. 

Earely, rarely comest thou, 
Spirit of Delight ! 

Wherefore hast thou left me now- 
Many a day and night ? 

Many a weary night and day 

'Tis since thou art fled away. 

How shall ever one like me 

Win thee back again ? 
With the joyous and the free 

Thou wilt scoff at pain. 
Spirit false ! thou hast forgot 
All but those who need thee not. 

As a lizard with the shade 

Of a trembling leaf, 
Thou with sorrow art dismay'd ; 

Even the sighs of grief 
Eeproach thee, that thou art not near, 
And repi-oach thou wilt not hear. 

Let me set my mournful ditty 
To a merry measure ; — 

Thou wilt never come for pity, 
Thou wilt come for pleasure ; — 

Pity then will cut away 

Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. 

I love all that thou lovest. 

Spirit of Delight ! 
The fresh Earth in new leaves drest, 

And the starry night ; 
Autumn evening, and the morn 
When the golden mists are born. 



BOOK FOURTH. 245 

I love snow and all the forms 

Of the radiant frost; 
I love waves, and winds, and storms, 

Everything almost 
Which is Nature's, and may be 
Untainted by man's misery. 

I love tranquil solitude, 

And such society 
As is quiet, wise, and good ; 

Between thee and me 
What diflf 'rence ? but thou dost possess 
The things I seek, not love them less. 

I love Love— though he has wings, 

And like light can flee, 
But above all other things. 

Spirit, I love thee — 
Thou art love and life ! O come ! 
Make once more my heart thy home ! 

p. B. Shelley. 

ccxxvir. 

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES. 

Tiie sun is warm, the sky is clear, 
The waves are dancing last and bright. 
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear 
The purple noon's transparent light: 
The breath of the moist air is hght 
Around its unexpanded buds ; 
Like many a voice of one delight— 
The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods'— 
The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. 

I see the Deep's untramplcd floor 

With green and purple sea-weeds strewn ; 

I see the waves upon the shore 

Like lio-ht dissolved in star-showers thrown : 



246 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

I sit upon the sands alone ; 
The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 
Is flashing round me, and a tone 
Arises from its measured motion — 
How sweet I did any heart now share in my emotion. 

Alas ! I have nor hope nor health, 
Nor peace within, nor calm around, 
Nor that Content surpassing wealth 
The sage in meditation found, 
And walk'd with inward glory crown'd — 
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ; 
Others I see whom these surround — 
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; 
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. 

Yet now despair itself is mild 
Even as the winds and waters are ; 
I could lie down like a tired child, 
And weep away the life of care 
Which I have borne, and yet must bear, 
Till death like sleep might steal on me, 
And I might feel in the warm air 
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 

P. B. Shelley. 



CCXXVIII. 

THE SCHOLAR. 

My days among the Dead are past ; 

Around me I behold, 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast. 

The mighty minds of old : 
My never-failing friends arc they, 
With whom I converse day by dky. 



BOOK FOURTH. 247 

With them I take delight in weal 

And seek relief in woe ; 
And while I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe, 
My cheeks have often been bedew'd 
With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

My thoughts are with tbe Dead ; with them 

I live in long-past years, 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their hopes and fears, 
And from their lessons seek and tind 
Instruction with an humble mind. 

My hopes are with the Dead ; anon 

My place with them will be, 
And I with them shall travel on 

Through all Futurity ; 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
That will not perish in tbe dust. 

R. Southey. 

CCXXIX. 

THE MERMAID TAVERN. 

Souls of Poets dead and gone. 
What Elysium have ye known — 
Happy field or mossy cavern — 
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 
Have ye tippled drink more fine 
Than mine host's Canary wine? 
Or are fruits of Paradise 
Sweeter than those dainty pies 
Of venison ? O generous food ! 
Drest as though bold Eobin Hood 
Would, with his Maid Marian, 
Sup and bowse from horn and can. 



248 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

I have heard that on a day 

Mine host's signboard flew away, 

Nobody knew whither, till 

An astrologer's old quill 

To a sheepskin gave the story — 

Said he saw you in your glory 

Underneath a new-old Sign 

Sipping beverage divine, 

And pledging with contented smack 

The Mermaid in the Zodiac ! 

Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
What Elysium have ye known — 
Happy field or mossy cavern — 
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? 

J. Keats. 

CCXXX. 
THE PRIDE OF YOUTH. 

Proud Maisie is in the wood, 

Walking so early : 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 

" Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
When shall I marry me ?" 

— " When six braw gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry ye." 

" Who makes the bridal bed, 

Birdie, say truly ?" 
— " The gray-headed sexton, 
That delves the grave duly. 

" The glowworm o'er grave and stone 
Shall light thee steady ; 

The owl from the steeple sing 
Welcome, proud lady." 

Sir W. Scott. 



BOOK FOURTH. 249 

CCXXXI. 

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

One more Unfortunate, 
Weaiy of breath, 
Eashly importunate. 
Gone to her death ! 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashion'd so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements. 
Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly, 
Loving, not loathing. 

Touch her not scornfully ; 
Think of her mournfully. 
Gently and humanly ; 
Not of the stains of her — 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 
Eash and undutiful : 
Past all dishonor. 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers. 
One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers 
Oozing so clammily. 



250 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses ; 
Whilst wonderment guesses, 
Where was her home ? 



Who was her father? 
Who was her mother ? 
Had she a sister ? 
Had she a brother? 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 
O ! it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 
Feelings had changed : 
Love, by harsh evidence, 
Thrown from its eminence ; 
Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 

So far in the river. 

With man}- a light 

From window and casement, 

From gai"ret to basement. 

She stood, with amazement, 

Houseless by night. 



BOOK FOURTH. 251 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver ; 
But not the dark arch, 
Or the black flowing river: 
Mad from life's history, 
Glad to death's mystery 
Swift to be hurl'd — 
Anywhere, anywhei'e 
Out of the world ! 



In she plunged boldly, 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, 
Over the brink of it, — 
Picture it, think of it, 
Dissolute Man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 
Then, if you can! 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashion'd so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, kindly. 
Smooth and compose them ; 
And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 

Dreadfully staring 
Through muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fix'd on futurity. 



252 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Perishing gloomily, 
Spurr'd by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity. 
Into her rest. 

— Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly, 
Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness. 
Her evil behavior, 
And leaving, with meekness, 
Her sins to her Saviour ! 

T. Hood. 



CCXXXII. 

ELEGY. 

O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom ! 

On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; 

But on thy turf shall roses rear 

Their leaves, the earliest of the year. 

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom ; 

And oft by yon blue gushing stream 

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head. 

And feed deep thought with many a dream, 

And lingering pause, and lightly tread ; 

Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd the dead 

Away ! we know that tears are vain. 
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : 
Will this unteach us to complain. 
Or make one mourner weep the less ? 
And thou, who tell'st me to forget. 
Thy looks are wan. thine eyes are wet. 

Lord Byron. 



BOOK FOURTH. 253 



CCXXXIII. 
HESTER. 

When maidens such as Hester die, 
Their place ye may not well supply, 
Though yo among a thousand try 

With vain endeavor. 
A month or more hath she been dead, 
Yet cannot I by force be led 
To think upon the wormy bed 

And her together. 

A springy motion in her gait, 

A rising step, did indicate 

Of pride and joy no common rate 

That flush'd her spirit : 
1 know not by what name beside 
I shall it call : if 'twas not pride, 
It was a joy to that allied 

She did inherit. 

Her parents held the Quaker rule, 
Which doth the human feeling cool ; 
But she was train'd in Nature's school. 

Nature had blest her. 
A waking eye, a prying mind, 
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind. 

Ye could not Hester. 

My sprightly neighbor ! gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore, 
Shall we not meet, as heretofore, 
Some summer morning — 



254 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 
A bliss that would not go away, 
A sweet forewarning ? 

C. Lamb. 



CCXXXIV. 

CORONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The fount reappearing 

From the rain-drops shall borrow, 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 

The hand of the reaper 
. Takes the ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are serest, 
But our flower was in flushing 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi. 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river, 
Like the bubble on the fountain. 

Thou art gone ; and for ever ! 

Sir W. Scott. 



BOOK FOURTH. 255 

CCXXXV. 
THE DEATH-BED. 

We watch'd her breathing through the night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seem'd to speak, 

So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied : 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 

Another morn than ours. 

T. Hood. 

CCXXXVI. 

ROSABELLE. 

O listen, listen, ladies gay! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay. 

That mourns the lovely Eosabelle. 

" Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, 

And, gentle lady, deign to stay ! 
Eest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 



256 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

"The blackening wave is edged with white; 

To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 

Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 

" Last night the gifted Seer did view 
A wet shroud swathed round lady gay : 

Then stay thee, Fair, in Eavensheueh; 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?" 

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
To-night at Eoslin leads the ball. 

But that my lady-mother there 
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

" 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide 
If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle." 

— O'er Roslin all that drearj^ night 
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, 
And redder than the bright moonbeam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock, 
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 

'Twas seen from Dry den's groves of oak. 
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. 

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, 

Each baron, for a sable shroud, 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seem'd all on fire within, around, 
Deep sacristy and altar's pale; 

Shone every pillar foliage-bound, 

And glimmcr'd all the dead men's mail. 



BOOK FOURTH. 257 

Blazed battlement and pinnet bigh, 

Blazed every rose-cax'ved buttress fair — 

So still tbey blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 

There are twenty of Eoslin's barons bold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold, 
But the sea holds lovely Eosabelle ! 

And each Saint Clair was buried there 
With candle, with book, and with knell; 

But the sea-caves rung and the wild winds sung 
The dirge of lovely Eosabelle. 

Sir W. Scott. 



CCXXXVII. 

ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN. 

1 saw where in the shroud did lurk 
A curious frame of Nature's work ; 
A flow 'ret crushed in the bud, 
A nameless piece of Babyhood, 
Was in her cradle-coffin lying ; 
Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying: 
So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb 
For darker closets of the tomb ! 
She did but ope an eye, and put 
A clear beam forth, then straight up shut 
For the long dark, ne'er more to see 
Through glasses of mortality. 
Eiddle of destiny, who can show 
What thy short visit meant, or know 
What thy errand here below ? 
Shall we say that Natui-e blind 
Check'd her hand and changed her mind 
17 



258 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Just when she had exactly wrought 

A finish'd pattern w^ithout fault ? 

Could she flag, or could she tire, 

Or lack'd she the Promethean fire 

(With her nine moons' long workings sicken'd) 

That should thy little limbs have quicken'd? 

Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure 

Life of health, and days mature: 

Woman's self in miniature ! 

Limbs so fair, they might supply 

(Themselves now but cold in)agery) 

The sculjitor to make Beauty by. 

Or did the stern-e3^ed Fate descry 

That babe or mother, one must die, 

So in mercy left the stock 

And cut the branch, to save the shock 

Of young years widow'd, and the pain 

When Single State conies back again 

To the lone man who, reft of wife, 

Thenceforward drags a maimed life? 

The economy of Heaven is dark, 

And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark 

Why human buds, like this, should fall 

More brief than fly ephemeral 

That has his day ; while shrivell'd cronea 

Stiff'en with age to stocks and stones, 

And crabbed use the conscience sears 

In sinners of an hundred j^ears. 

— Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, 

Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss : 

Rites which custom does impose, 

Silver bells, and baby clothes, 

Coral redder than those lips 

Which pale death did late eclipse, 

Music framed for infant's glee. 

Whistle never tuned for thee, — 

Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them, 

Loving hearts were they which gave them. 



BOOK FOURTH. 259 

Let not one be missing ; nurse, 
See them laid upon the hearse 
Of infant slain by doom perverse. 
"Why should kings and nobles have 
Pictured trophies to their grave, 
And we ehui-ls to thee deny 
Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — 
A more harmless vanity ? 

C. Lamb, 



CCXXXVIII. 

THE AFFLICTION OF MARGAEET. 

Where art thou, my beloved son, 

"Where art thou, worse to me than dead? 

find me, prosperous or undone ! 
Or if the grave be now thy bed, 

"Why am I ignorant of the same. 
That I may rest, and neither blame 
Nor sorrow may attend thy name ? 

Seven years, alas ! to have received 

No tidings of an only child — 
To have despair'd, have hoped, believed, 

And be for evermore beguiled 
Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss ! 

1 catch at them, and then I miss : 
"Was ever darkness like to this ? 

He was among the prime in worth. 
An object beauteous to behold ; 

"Well born, well bred ; I sent him forth 
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold : 

If things ensued that wanted grace, 

Ah hath been said, they were not base; 

And never blush was on my face. 



260 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Ah ! little doth the young one dream, 
When full of play and childish cares, 

What power is in his wildest scream 
Heard by his mother unawares! 

He knows it not, he cannot guess ; 

Years to a mother bring distress, 

But do not make her love the less. 

Neglect me ! no ; I suffer'd long 

From that ill thought; and, being blind, 

Said, " Pride shall help me in my wrong : 
Kind mother have I been, as kind 

As ever breathed :" and that is true ; 

I've wet my path with tears like dew, 

Weeping for him when no one knew. 

My son, if thou be humbled, poor. 
Hopeless of honor and of gain, 

! do not dread thy mother's door, 
Think not of me with grief and pain : 

1 now can see with better eyes; 
And worldly grandeur I despise, 
And Fortune with her gifts and lies. 

Alas ! the fowls of heaven have wings. 
And blasts of heaven will aid their flight; 

They mount — how short a voj-age brings 
The wanderers back to their delight ! 

Chains tie us down by land and sea ; 

And wishes, vain as mine, may bo 

All that is left to comfort thee. 

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, 
Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men ; 

Or thou upon a desert thrown 
Inheritest the lion's den ; 

Or hast been summon'd to the deep. 

Thou, thou, and all thy mates, to keep 

An incommunicable sleep. 



BOOK FOURTH. 261 

I look for ghosts: but none will force 

Their way to me : 'tis falsely said 
That there was ever intercourse 

Between the living and the dead ; 
For surely then I should have sight 
Of him I wait for day and night 
With love and longings infinite. 

My apprehensions come in crowds ; 

I dread the rustling of the grass ; 
The verj" shadows of the clouds 

Have power to shake me as they pass ; 
I question things, and do not find 
One that Avill answer to my mind ; 
And all the world appears unkind. 

Beyond participation lie 

My troubles, and bej'ond relief: 
If any chance to heave a sigh, 

They pity me, and not my grief 
Then come to me, my son, or send 
Some tidings that my woes may end ! 
I have no other earthly friend. 

W. Wo7-dsworth. 



CCXXXIX. 

HUNTING SONG. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

On the mountain dawns the day ; 

All the jolly chase is here. 

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear; 

Hounds are in their couples yelling. 

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 

Merrily, merrily mingle they, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 



262 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

AVaken, lords and ladies gay, 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are steaming, 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming, 

And foresters have busj'- been 

To track the buck in thicket green ; 

Now we come to chant our lay, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the greenwood haste away ; 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; 
You shall see him brought to bay ; 
Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

Louder, louder chant the lay ; 

Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 

Tell them youth and mirth and glee 

Eun a course as well as we ; 

Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk, 

Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ; 

Think of this, and rise with day, 

Gentle lords and ladies gay ! 

Sir W. Scott. 



CCXL. 

TO THE SKYLARK. 

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! 

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? 
Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 

Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
Those quivering wings composed, that music still! 



BOOK FOURTH. 263 

To the last point of vision, and beyond, 

Mount, daring warbler! — that love-prompted strain 

— 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — 
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : 

Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing 

All independent of the leafy Spring. 

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 

A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 

Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — 
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. 

W. iVorchworth. 



CCXLI. \ 

TO A SKYLARK. 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit, — • 

Bird thou never wert, — 
That from heaven, or near it, 

Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated artl 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest 

Like a cloud of fire ; 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

In the golden lightning 

Of the sunken sun. 
O'er which clouds are brightening, 

Thou dost float and run. 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 



264 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight ; 
Like a star of heaven 
In the broad daylight, 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delighl 



Keen as are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere. 
Whose intense lamp narrows 

In the white dawn clear 
Until we hardly see — we feel that it is there. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare, 
From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd. 

What thou art we know not ; 

What is most like thee ? 
From rainbow clouds thei-e flow not 

Drops so bright to see 
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought, 
Singing hymns unbidden. 

Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower, 
Soothing her love-laden 

Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : 



BOOK FOURTH. 265 

Like a glow-worm golden 

In a dell of dew, 
Scattering unbeholden 

Its aerial hue 
Among tne flowers and grass, which screen it from the view : 



Like a rose embowcr'd 

In its own green leaves, 
By warm winds deflower'd, 

Till the ^cent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. 

Sound of vernal showers 
On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awaken'd flowers, 
All that ever was 
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine : 
I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus hymeneal. 

Or triumphal chant, 
Match'd with thine, would be all 

But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain ? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains? 
What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain? 



266 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

With thy clear keen joyanee 

Languor cannot be : 
Shadow of annoj'ance 

Never came near thee : 
Thou Ijvest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety 

"Waking or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 

Than we mortals dream, 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not : 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught ; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate, and pride, and fear, — 
If we were things born 

Not to shed a tear, — 
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground I 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! 

P. B. Shelley. 



BOOK FOURTH, 267 

CCXLII. 

THE GREEN LINNET. 

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that rhed 
Their snow-white blossoms on my head, 
With brightest sunshine round me spread 

Of Spi'ing's unclouded weather, 
In this sequester'd nook how sweet 
To sit upon my orchard-seat, 
And flowers and birds once more to greet, 

My last year's friends together ! 

One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 
In all this covert of the blest : 
Hail to Thee, far above the rest 

In joy of voice and pinion ! 
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array, 
Presiding Spirit here to-day. 
Dost lead the revels of the May, 

And this is thy dominion. 

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers 
Make all one band of paramours. 
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers. 

Art sole in thy employment ; 
A Life, a Presence like the air, 
Scattering thy gladness without care, 
Too blest with any one to pair. 

Thyself thy own enjoyment. 

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 
Behold him perch'd in ecstasies, 
Yet seeming still to hover : 



:68 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

There, where the flutter of his wings 
Upon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings, 
That cover him all over. 

My dazzled sight he oft deceives — 
xi fc-rother of the dancing leaves ; 
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves 

Pours forth his song in gushes, 
As if by that exulting sti'ain 
He mock'd and treated with disdain 
The voiceless Form he chose to feign 

While fluttering in the bushes. 

W. Wordsivorth. 



CCXLIII. 

TO THE CUCKOO. 

O blivhe new-comer ! I have heard, 

I hear thee and rejoice : 
O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, 

Or but a wandering Voice ? 

Whi'e I am lying on the grass 

Thy twofold shout I hear : 
From hill to hill it seems to pass. 

At once far off* and near. 

Though babbling only to the vale 
Of sunshine and of flowers, 

Thou bringest unto me a tale 
Of visionary hours. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! 

Even yet thou art to me 
No bii'd, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery ; 



BOOK FOURTH. 269 

The same whom in my school-boy days 

I listen'd to ; that cry 
Which made me look a thousand ways 

In bush, and tree, and sky. 

To seek thee did I often rove 

Through woods and on the green ; 
And thou wert still a hope, a love ; 

Still long'd for, never seen ! 

And 1 can listen to thee yet; 

Can lie upon the plain 
And listen, till I do beget 

That golden time again. 

O blessed bird ! the earth we puoe 

Again appears to be 
An unsubstantial, fairy place 

That is fit home for thee ! 

W. Wordsworth 



CCXLIV. 
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe- wards had sunk : 
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 
But being too happy in thy happiness, 

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 

O for a draught of vintage, that bath been 
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 



270 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Tasting of Flora and the country green, 

Dance, and ProvenQal song, and sunburnt mirth 1 

for a beaker full of the warm South, 
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
And purple-stained mouth ; 
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 
And with thee fade away into the forest dim : 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 

What thou among the leaves hast never known, — 
The weariness, the i'evei", and the fret 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 
Where palsy shakos a few sad, last gray hairs, 

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; 
Where hut to think is to be full of sorrow 
And leaden-ej'ed despairs; 
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards. 
But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : 
Already with thee ! tender is the night, 

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, 
Ciuster'd around by all her starry Fays ; 
But here there is no light 
Save what from heaven is with the bi'eezes blown 
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 

1 cannot see what flowers are at my feet. 

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 

Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; 
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; 
Fast-fading violets covcr'd up in leaves ; 
And mid-May's eldest child 



BOOK FOURTH. 271 

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 

Darkling I listen ; and lor many a time 

I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 

To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 
To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 
To thy high requiem become a sod. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 

No hungry generations tread thee down ; 
The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

In ancient days by emperor and clown : 
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 
She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; 
The same that oft-times hath 
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 
Of perilous seas, in faery lamls forlorn. 

Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 

To toll me back from thee to my sole t,elf ! 
Adieu! the fanc}' cannot cheat so well 
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 
Past the near meadows, over the still stream. 
Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades : 
Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? 

Fled is that music : — do I wake or sleep ? 

J. Keais. 



272 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 



CCXLV. 

UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, 
Sept. 3, 1802. 

Earth Las not anything to show more fair ; 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This City now doth like a garment wear 

The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky. 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 

Never did sun more beautifully steep 
In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill ; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 

The river glideth at his own sweet will ; 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

W. Wordswoi-th. 



CCXLVI. 

OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT. 

I met a traveller from an antique land. 
Who said : Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown 
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet suiwive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed ; 
And on the pedestal these words appear : 
" My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : 



BOOK FOURTH. 273 

Look on my works, yo Might}-, and despair!" 
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, 
The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

P. B. Shelley. 



CCXLVII. 

COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE PROPERTY OF 
LORD QUEENSBERRY, 1803. 

Degenerate Douglas ! O the unworthy lord ! 
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please 
And love of havoc (for with such disease 
Fame taxes him) that he could send forth word 

To level with the dust a noble horde, 

A brotherhood of venerable trees. 

Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, 

Beggar'd and outraged ! — Many hearts deplored 

The fate of those old trees ; and oft with pain 

The traveller at this day will stop and gaze 

On wrongs which Nature scarcely seems to heed : 

For shelter'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays. 
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, 
And the green silent pastures, yet remain. 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCXLVIII. 
ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER. 

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye ! 
— The lovely cottage in the guardian nook 
Hath stirr'd thee deeply ; with its own dear brook, 
Its own small pasture, almost. its own sky ! 
18 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

But covet not the abode — do not sigb, 
As many do, repining while they look ; 
Intruders who would tear from Nature's book 
This precious leaf with harsh impiet}- : 

— Think what the home would be if it were thine, 
Even thine, though fev^ thy wants! — Eoof Avindow, doo-'j 
The very flowers, are sacred to the Poor, 
The roses to the porch which they entwine: — 

Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day 
On which it should be touch'd would melt away! 

W. Woi-dsworih. 

CCXLIX. 

TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNAID. 

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 

Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 

Twice seven consenting years have shed 

Their utmost bounty on thy head : 

And these gray I'ocks, this household lawn, 

These trees — a veil just half withdrawn, 

This fall of water that doth make 

A murmur near the silent lake, 

This little bay, a quiet road 

That holds in shelter thy abode ; 

In truth together ye do seem 

Like something fashion'd in a dream, — 

Such forms as from their covert peep 

When earthly cares are laid asleep ! 

But O fair Creature! in the light 

Of common day so heavenly bright, 

I bless thee, Vision as thou art, 

I bless thee with a human heart : 

God shield thee to thy latest years ! 

I neither know thee nor thy peers : 

And yet my ej-es are fill'd with tears. 



£00/1 FOURTH. 275 

With earnest feeling I shall pray 
For thee when I am far away ; 
For never saw I mien or face 
In which more plainly I could trace 
Benignity and home-bred sense 
Kipcning in perfect innocence. 
Here scattcr'd like a random seed, 
Eemote from men, thou dost not need 
The embarrass'd look of shy distress 
And maidenly shamefacedness ; 
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
The freedom of a mountaineer: 
A face with gladness overspread. 
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred ; 

And seemliness complete, that sways 

Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; 

With no restraint, but such as springs 

From quick and eager visitings 

Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 

Of thy few words of English speech : 

A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife 

That gives thy gestures grace and life ! 

So have I, not unmoved in mind, 

Seen birds of tempest-loving kind 

Thus beating up against the wind. 

What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee who art so beautiful ? 
O happy pleasure ! here to dwell 
Beside thee in some heathy dell. 
Adopt your homel}' ways and drees, 
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! 
But I could frame a wish for thee 
More like a grave reality : 
Thou art to me but as a wave 
Of the wild sea ; and I would have 
Some claim upon thee, if I could, 
Thou--h but of common neighborhood. 



276 't'HE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

What joy to hear thee, and to see ! 
Thy elder brother I would be, 
Thy father, anything to thee. 

Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace 

Hath led me to this lonely place ; 

Joy have I had ; and going hence 

I bear away my recompense. 

In spots like these it is we prize 

Our memory, feel that she hath eyes : 

Then why should I be loath to stir? 

I feel this place was made for her, 

To give new pleasure like the past, 

Continued long as life shall last. 

Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart, 

Sweet Highland Girl ! from thee to part ; 

For I, methinks, till I grow old 

As fair before me shall behold 

As I do now, the cabin small. 

The lake, the bay, the waterfall. 

And thee, the spirit of them all ! 

W. Wordsworih 



CCL. 

THE REAPER. 

Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland lass! 
Eeaping and singing by herself; 

Stop here, or gently pass ! 
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain : 
O listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowinor with the sound. 



BOOK FOURTH. 217 

No nightingale did ever chant 

More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travellers in some shady haunt, 

Among Arabian sands : 
No sweeter voice was ever heard 
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell mc what she sings? 

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-off things. 

And battles long ago : 
Or is it some more humble lay, 
Familiar matter of to-day ? 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
That has been, and may be again ! 

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no enaing ; 

I saw her singing at her work 
And o'er the sickle bending ; 

I listen'd till I had my fill ; 

And as 1 mounted up the hill, 

The music in' my heart 1 bore 

Long after it was heard no more. 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCLI. 

THE EEVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. 

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, 
Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years; 
Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard 
In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 



278 "THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her? She sees 
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 
Bi'ight volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide, 
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. 

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale 
Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail ; 
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, 
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 

She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, 
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, 
And the colors have all pass'd away from her eyes ! 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCLII. 

TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR. 

Ariel to Miranda : — Take 
This slave of music, for the sake 
Of him, who is the slave of thee ; 
And teach it all the harmony 
In which thou canst, and only thou, 
Make the delighted spirit glow, 
i'ili joy denies itself again, 
And, too intense, is turn'd to parn. 
For, by permission and command 
Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, 
Poor Ariel sends this silent token 
Of more than ever can be spoken ; 
Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 
From life to life must still pursue 
Your happiness, for thus alone 
Can Ariel ever find his own ; 
From Prospero's enchanted cell, 
As the mighty verses tell, 



BOOK FOURTH. 279 

To the throne of Naples he 

Lit you o'er the trackless sea, 

Flitting on, your prow before, 

Like a living meteor. 

When you die, the silent Moon 

In her interlunar swoon 

Is not sadder in her cell 

Than deserted Ariel ; 

When you live again on earth, 

Like an unseen Star of birth 

Ariel guides you o'er the sea 

Of life from your nativity : 

Man}^ changes have been run 

Since Ferdinand and you begun 

Your course of love, and Ariel still 

Has track'd your steps and served your will. 

Now in humbler, happier lot. 

This is all remember'd not; 

And now, alas ! the poor sprite is 

Imprison'd for some fault of his 

In a body like a grave — 

From you he only dares to crave 

For his service and his sorrow 

A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 



The artist who this viol wrought 
To echo all harmonious thought, 
Fell'd a tree, while on the steep 
The woods were in their winter sleep, 
liock'd in that repose divine. 
On the wind-swept Apennine; 
And dreaming, some of autumn past. 
And some of spring approaching fast. 
And some of April buds and showers. 
And some of songs in July bowers, 
And all of love ; and so this tree — 
O that such our death may be! — 



280 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Died in sleep, and felt no j^ain, 

To live in happier form again : 

From -which, beneath Heaven's fairest star, 

The artist wrought this loved Guitar, 

And taught it justly to reply 

To all who question skilfully 

In language gentle as thine own ; 

Whispering in enamour'd tone 

Sweet oracles of woods and dells. 

And summer winds in sylvan cells ; 

— For it had learnt all harmonies 

Of the plains and of the skies. 

Of the forests and the mountains, 

And the manj'-voiced fountains ; 

The clearest echoes of the hills, 

The softest notes of falling rills, 

The melodies of birds and bees, 

The murmuring of summer seas, 

And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 

And airs of evening; and it knew 

That seldom-heard mysterious sound 

Which, driven on its diurnal round, 

As it floats through boundless day. 

Our world enkindles on its way: 

— All this it knows, but will not tell 

To those who cannot question well 

The spirit that inhabits it ; 

It talks according to the wit 

Of its companions ; and no more 

Is heard than has been felt before 

B}^ those who tempt it to betray 

These secrets of an elder da}'. 

But, sweetly as its answers will 

Flatter hands of perfect skill, 

It keeps its highest holiest tone 

For one beloved Friend alone. 

P B. Shelley. 



BOOK FOURTH. 281 

CCLIII. 
THE DAFFODILS. 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er valew and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host of golden daffodils, 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 

And twinkle on the Milky Way, 
They stretch'd in never-ending line 

Along the margin of a bay : 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : — 

A Poet could not but be gay 
In sucli a jocund company ! 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought; 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 

In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

W. Wordsworth. 



282 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCLIV. 

TO THE DAISY. 

With little here to do oi' see 

Of things that in the great world be, 

Sweet Daisy ! oft I talk to thee 

For thou art M^orthy, 
Thou unassuming commonplace 
Of Nature, with that homely face, 
And yet with something of a grace 

Which love makes for thee ! 

Oft on the dappled turf at ease 

I sit and play with similes, 

Loose types of things through all degrees, 

Thoughts of thy raising ; 
And many a fond and idle name 
I give to thee, for praise or blame, 
As is the humor of the game, 

While I am gazing. 

A nun demure, of lowly port ; 

Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, 

In thy simplicity the sport 

Of all temptations ; 
A queen in crown of rubies drost; 
A starveling in a scanty vest ; 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 

Thy appellations. 

A little Cyclops, with one eye 

Staring to threaten and defy, 

That thought comes next — and instantly 

The freak is over. 
The shape will vanish, and, behold! 
A silver shield with boss of gold, 
That spreads itself, some fairy bold 
In fight to cover. 



BOOK FOURTH. 283 

I see thee glittering from afar — 
And then thou art a pretty star, 
Not quite so fair as many are 

In heaven above thee! 
Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ; — 
May peace come never to his nest 

Who shall reprove thee ! 

Sweet Flower! for by that name at last, 
When all my reveries are past, 
I call thee, and to that cleave fast. 

Sweet silent Creature ! 
That breath'st with me in sun and air, 
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
My heart with gladness, and a share 

Of thy meek nature ! 

W. Wordsworth. 

CCLV. 

ODE TO AUTUMN. 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; 

Conspiring with him how to load and bless 

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; 

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; 

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 

With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more. 

And still more, later flowers for the bees, 

Until they think warm days will never cease ; 

For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store? 
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 



284 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 

Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; 

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 

Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 

Or by a cider-press, with patient look, 

Thou watchest tlie last ooziugs, hours by hours. 

Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ? 

Think not of them, — thou hast thy music too, 

While bai-red clouds bloom the soft-dying day 

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 

Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking as the light Avind lives or dies ; 

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; 

Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft 

The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft. 

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 

J. Keats. 



CCLVI. 

ODE TO WINTER. 

Germany, December, 1800. 

When first the fiery-mantled Sun 
His heavenly race began to run, 
Round the earth and ocean blue 
His children four the Seasons flew : — 

First, in green apparel dancing, 
The young Spring smiled with angel-grace ; 

Rosy Summer, next advancing, 
Rush'd into her sire's embrace — 
Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keep 

For ever nearest to his smiles. 
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep 

Or India's citron-cover'd isles ; 



BOOK FOURTH. 285 

More remote, and buxom-brown, 

The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne : 
A ricli pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 

But howling Winter fled afar 
To hills that proj) the polar star ; 
And loves on deer-borne car to ride 
With barren darkness at his side. 
Round the shore whei-e loud Lofoden 

Whirls to death the I'oaring whale, 
Eound the hall where Runic Odin 

Howls his wai'-song to the gale — 
Save when adown the ravaged globe 

He travels on his native storm, 
Deflowering Nature's grassy robe 

And trampling on her faded form ; 
Till light's returning Lord assume 

The shaft that drives him to his northern field, 
Of power to pierce his raven plume 

And crystal-covei*'d shield. 

O sire of storms ! whose savage ear 
The Lapland drum delights to hear, 
When Frenzy with her bloodshot e3'^e 
Implores thy dreadful deity — 
Archangel ! Power of desolation ! 

Fast descending as thou art, 
Say, hath mortal invocation 

Spells to touch thy stony heart ? 
Then, sullen Winter ! hear my prayer, 

And gently rule the ruin'd year ; 
Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare. 

Nor freeze the wa-etch's falling tear ; 
To shuddering Want's unmantled bed 

Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend, 
And gently on the orphan head 

Of Innocence descend. 



286 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

But chiefly spare, O king of clouds! 
The sailor on his airy shrouds, 
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, 
And spectres walk along the deep. 
Milder yet thj- snowy breezes 

Pour on yonder tented shores, 
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 

Or the dark-brown Danube roars. 
O winds of Winter! list ye there 

To many a deep and djang groan ? 
Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, 

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own? 
Alas! e'en your unhallow'd breath 

May spare the victim fallen low ; 
But Man will ask no truce to death, 

No bounds to human woe. 

T. Camj^belL 

CCLVII. 

YARROW UNVISITED. 

1803. 

From Stirling Castle we had seen 

The mazy Forth unravell'd. 
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, 

And with the Tweed had travell'd ; 
And when we came to Clovenford, 

Then said my " winsome Mai-row," 
" Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, 

And see the Bi-acs of Yarrow." 

" Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, 

Who have been buying, selling, 
Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, 

Each maiden to her dwelling ! 
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 

Hares couch, and rabbits burrow, 
But we will doAvuAvard with the Tweed, 

Nor tui-n aside to Yarrow. 



BOOK FOURTH. 287 

" There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, 

Both lying right before us ; 
And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed 

The lintwhites sing in chorus; 
There's pleasant Tiviotdale, a land 

Made blithe with plough and harrow : 
Why throw away a needful day 

To go in search of Yarrow ? 

" What's Yarrow but a river bare 

That glides the dark hills under? 
There are a thousand such elsewhere 

As worthy of your wonder." 
— Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn; 

My true-love sigh'd for soi-row, 
And look'd me in the face, to think 

I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 

" O green," said I, " are Yarrow's holms, 

And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 

But we will leave it growing. 
Oc'r hilly path and open strath 

We'll wander Scotland thorough ; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 

Into the dale of Yarrow. 

"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 

The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake 

Float double, swan and shadow ! 
We will not see them ; will not go 

To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
Enough if in our hearts we know 

There's such a place as Yarrow. 

" Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ; 
It must, or we shall rue it : 



288 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

We have a vision of our own, 
Ah! why should we undo it? 

The treasured dreams of times I'^ng past, 
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! 

For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 
'Twill be another Yarrow! 

" If care with freezing j-ears should oome, 

And wandering seem but foil}-, — 
Should we be loath to stir from home. 

And yet be melanchol}', — 
Should life be dull, and spirits low, 

'Twill soothe us in our sorrow 
That earth has something yet to show, 

The bonny Holms of Yarrow !" 

W. Wordsioorth. 

CCLVIII. 
YAEROW VISITED. 

September, 1814. 

And is this — Yarrow ? — this the Stream 

Of which my fancy cherish'd 
So faithfully a waking dream, 

An image that hath perish'd? 
O that some minstrel's harp were near, 

To utter notes of gladness 
And chase this silence from the air. 

That fills my heart with sadness I 

Yet why? — a silvery current flows 

With uncontroll'd meanderings ; 
Nor have these eyes by greener hills 

Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 
And, through her depths. Saint Mary's Lake 

Is visibly delighted ; 
For not a feature of those hills 

Is in the mirror slitchted. 



BOOK FOURTH. 289 

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale, 

Save where that pearly whiteness 
Is round the rising sun diffused, 

A tender haz}* brightness ; 
Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes 

All profitless dejection ; 
Though not unwilling here to admit 

A pensive recollection. 

Where was it that the famous Flower 

Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding ? 
His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 

On which the herd is feeding : 
And haply from this crystal pool, 

Now peaceful as the morning, 
The water-Wraith ascended thrice 

And gave his doleful warning. 

Delicious is the Lay that sings 

The haunts of happy lovers, 
The path that leads them to the grove, 

The leafy grove that covers ; 
And pity sanctifies the verse 

That paints, by strength of sorrow, 
The unconquerable strength of love ; 

Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 

But thou, that didst appear so fair 

To fond imagination, 
Dost rival in the light of day 

Her delicate creation : 
Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 

A softness still and holy, . 
The grace of forest charms decay'd, 

And pastoral melancholy. 

That region left, the vale unfolds 
Eich groves of lofty stature, 
19 



290 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

With Yarrow winding through the pomp 

Of cultivated Nature ; 
And rising from those lofty groves 

Behold a ruin hoary, 
The shatter'd front of Newark's Towers, 

Eenown'd in Border story. 

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, 

For sportive youth to stray in. 
For manhood to enjoy his strength, 

And age to wear away in ! 
Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, 

A covei't for protection 
Of studious ease, and generous cares, 

And every chaste affection ! 

How sweet on this autumnal day 

The wild-wood fruits to gather, 
And on my true-love's forehead plant 

A crest of blooming heather ! 
And what if I enwreathed my own ? 

'Twere no offence to reason ; 
The sober hills thus deck their brows 

To meet the wintry season. 

I see — but not by sight alone 

Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 
A ray of Fancy still survives — 

Her sunshine plays upon thee ! 
Thy ever-youthful waters keep 

A course of lively pleasure ; 
And gladsome notes my lips can breathe 

Accordant to the measure. 

The vapors linger round the heights, 
They melt, and soon must vanish ; . 

One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — 
Sad thought! which I would banish, 



BOOK FOURTH. 291 

But that I know, where'er I go, 

Thy genuine image, Yarrow ! 
Will dwell with me, to heighten joy 

And cheer my mind in sorrow. 

W. Wordsworth. 

CCLIX. 

THE INVITATION. 

Best and Brightest, come away, 
Fairer far than this fair day. 
Which, like thee to those in sorrow, 
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow 
To the rough year just awake 
In its cradle on the brake. 
The brightest hour of unborn Spring, 
Through the winter wandering, 
Found, it seems, the halcyon morn 
To hoar February born ; 
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth. 
It kiss'd the forehead of the earth. 
And smiled upon the silent sea. 
And bade the frozen streams be free. 
And waked to music all their fountains. 
And breathed upon the frozen mountains. 
And, like a prophetess of May, 
Strew'd flowers upon the barren way, 
Making the wintry world appear 
Like one on whom thou smilest, Dear. 

Away, away, from men and towns. 
To the wild wood and the downs — 
To the silent wilderness, 
Where the soul need not repress 
Its music, lest it should not find 
An echo in another's mind, 
While the touch of Nature's art 
Harmonizes heart to heart. 



292 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Eadiant Sister of the Day, 
Awake ! arise ! and come away ! 
To the wild woods and the plains, 
To the pools where winter rains 
Image all their roof of leaves. 
Where the pine its garland weaves 
Of sapless green, and ivy dun, 
Eound stems that never kiss the sun, 
"Where the lawns and pastures be, 
And the sandhills of the sea. 
Where the melting hoar-frost wets 
The daisy-star that never sets, 
And wind-flowers and violets 
Which yet join not scent to hue 
Crown the pale year weak and new ; 
When the night is left behind 
In the deep east, dim and blind, 
And the blue noon is over us, 
And the multitudinous 
Billows murmur at our feet. 
Where the earth and ocean meet, 
And all things seem only one 
In the universal Sun, 

P. B. Shelley. 



CCLX. 

THE RECOLLECTION. 

Now the last day of many days 
All beautiful and bright as thou. 
The loveliest and the last, is dead. 
Else, Memory, and write its praise ! 
Up, do thy wonted work ! come, trace 
The epitaph of glory fled. 
For now the Earth has changed its face, 
A frown is on the Heaven's brow. 



BOOK FOURTH. 293 

We wandered to the Pine Forest 

That skirts the Ocean's foam ; 
The lightest wind was in its nest, 

The tempest in its home. 
The whispering waves were half asleep, 

The clouds were gone to play, 
And on the bosom of the deep 

The smile of Heaven lay ; 
It seem'd as if the hour were one 

Sent from beyond the skies 
Which scatter'd from above the sun 

A lie-ht of Paradise! 

We paused amid the pines that stood 

The giants of the waste, 
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude 

As serpents interlaced, — 
And soothed by every azure breath 

That under heaven is blown 
To harmonies and hues beneath. 

As tender as its own : 
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep 

Like green waves on the sea, 
As still as in the silent deep 

The ocean-woods may be. 

How calm it was ! — the silence there 

By such a chain was bound, 
That even the busy woodpecker 

Made stiller by her sound 
The inviolable quietness ; 

The breath of peace we drew 
With its soft motion made not less 

The calm that round us grew. 
There seem'd fi-om the remotest seat 

Of the wide mountain waste 
To the soft flower beneath our feet 

A magic circle traced, 



294 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

A sph'it interfused around, 

A thrilling silent life ; 
To momentary peace it bound 

Our mortal nature's strife ; — 
And still I felt the centre of 

The magic circle there 
Was one fair Form that fiU'd with love 

The lifeless atmosphere. 

We paused beside the pools that lie 

Under the forest bough ; 
Each seem'd as 'twere a little sk}^ 

Gulf 'd in a world below ; 
A firmament of purple light 

Which in the dark earth lay, 
More boundless than the depth of night 

And purer than the day — 
In which the lovely forests grew 

As in the upper air, 
More perfect both in shape and hue 

Than any spreading there. 
There lay the glade and neighboring lawn, 

And through the dark green wood 
The white sun twinkling like the dawn 

Out of a sjjeckled cloud. 
Sweet views which in our world above 

Can never well be seen 
Were imaged by the water's love 

Of that fair forest green : 
And all was interfused beneath 

With an Elysian glow, 
An atmosphere without a breath, 

A softer day below. 

Like one beloved, the scene had lent 
To the dark water's breast 

Its every leaf and lineament 
With more than truth exprest ; 



BOOK FOURTH. 295 

Until an envious wind crept by, 

Like an unwelcome thought 
Which from the mind's too faithful eye 

Blots one dear image out. 
— Though Thou art ever fair and kind, 

The forests ever green, 
Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind 

Than calm in waters seen ! 

P. B. Shelley. 



CCLXI. 

BY THE SEA. 

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
The holy time is quiet as a nun 
Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
Is sinking down in its tranquillit}'^ ; 

The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : 
Listen ! the mighty being is awake, 
And doth with his eternal motion make 
A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 

Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, 
If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought, 
Thy nature is not therefore less divine : 

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year. 
And woi-ship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
God being with thee when we know it not. 

W. Woi-dsworth. 



296 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCLXII. 

TO THE EVENING STAR. 

Star that bringest home the bee, 
And sett'st the weary laborer free ! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou 

That send'st it from above, 
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow 

Are sweet as hers we love. 

Come to the luxuriant skies. 
Whilst the landscape's odors rise, 
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard 

And songs when toil is done, 
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews, 
Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art. 
Too delicious to be riven 

By absence from the heart. 

T. Campbell. 

CCLXIII. 

DATUR HORA QUIETI. 

The sun upon the lake is low. 

The wild birds hush their song, 
The hills have evening's deepest glow, 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide, 
In the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 



BOOK FOURTH. 297 

The noble dame on turret high, 

Who waits her gallant knight, 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armor bright. 
The village maid, with hand on brow 

The level ray to shade, 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin's darkening plaid. 

ISTow to their mates the wild swans row, 

By day they swam apart, 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The woodlark at his partner's side 

Twitters his closing song — 
All meet whom day and care divide, 

But Leonard tarries long ! 

Sir W. Scott. 



CCLXIV. 

TO THE MOON. 

Art thou pale for weariness 

Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth. 
Wandering companionless 

Among the stars that have a different birth, — 
And ever-changing, like a joyless eye 
That finds no object worth its constancy ? 

P. B. Shelley. 



CCLXV. 

A widow bird sate mourning for her Love 

Upon a wintry bough ; 
The frozen wind crept on above, 

The freezing stream below. 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

There was no leaf upon the forest bare. 

No flower upon the ground, 
And little motion in the air 

Except the mill-wheel's sound. 

P. B. Shelley. 

CCLXVI. 

TO SLEEP. 

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by- 
One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees 
Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky ; — 

I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie 
Sleepless ; and soon the small birds' melodies 
Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees, 
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, 
And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth : 
So do not let me wear to-night away : 

Without thee what is all the morning's wealth ? 
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, 
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! 

W. Wordswoi'th. 

CCLXVII. 
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd. 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sk}- ; 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd. 
The weary to sleej), and the wounded to die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain. 

At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw ; 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 



BOOK FOURTH. 299 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array 

Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track : 
'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; 

I heard m}^ own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore 

From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 

My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart: 

"Stay — stay with us! — rest! — thou art wearj- and worn!" — 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; — 

But sorrow retui*n'd with the dawning of morn. 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 

T. Campbell. 

ccLxviir. 
A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN. 

I dream'd that, as I wander'd by the way. 

Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, 
And gentle odors led my steps asti'a}^ 

Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring 
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 

Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 

But kiss'd it and then fled, as thou mightcst in dream. 

There grew pied wind-flowers and violets. 

Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth. 
The constellated flower that never sets ; 

Faint oxlips ; tender bluebells, at whose birth 



300 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets 
Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears 
When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. 

And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine. 
Green cow-bind, and the moonlight-color'd Maj^, 

And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
Was the bright dew yet drain'd not by the day ; 

And wild roses, and ivy serpentine 

With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray ; 

And flowers azure, black, and streak'd with gold, 

Fairer than any waken'd eyes behold. 

And nearer to the river's trembling edge 

There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, 
And starry river-buds among the sedge. 

And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, 
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 

With moonlight beams of their own watery light ; 
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 

Methought that of these visionary flowers 

I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
That the same hues, which in their natural bowers 

Were mingled or opposed, the like array 
Kept these imprison'd children of the Hours 

Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, 
I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come, 
That I might there present it — O ! to whom ? 

P. B. Shelley/. 

CCLXIX. 

THE INNER VISION. 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 
To pace the ground, if path there be or none, 
While a fair region round the traveller lies 
Which he forbeai-s again to look upon ; 



BOOK FOURTH. 301 

Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene 
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 
Of meditation, slipping in between 
The beaut}'' coming and the beauty gone. 

— If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse : 
With Thought and Love companions of our way, — 

Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, — 
The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 
Of insj)iration on the humblest lay. 

W. Wordsv^orth. 



COLXX. 
THE REALM OF FANCY. 

Ever let the Fancy roam ! 

Pleasure never is at home : 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth ; 

Then let winged Fancy wander 

Through the thought still spread beyond her: 

Open wide the mind's cage-door, 

She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. 

O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 

Summer's joys are spoilt by use, 

And the enjoying of the Spring 

Fades as does its blossoming : 

Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too, 

Blushing through the mist and dew. 

Cloys with tasting : What do then ? 

Sit thee by the ingle, when 

The sear fagot blazes bright, 

Spirit of a winter's night ; 

When the soundless earth is muffled, 

And the caked snow is shuffled 



302 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; 

When the Night doth meet the Noon 

In a dark conspiracy 

To banish Even from her sky. 

— Sit thee there, and send abroad 

AVith a mind self-overawed 

Fancy, high-commission'd : — send her; 

She has vassals to attend her ; 

She will bring, in spite of frost, 

Beauties that the earth hath lost ; 

She will bring thee, all togethei', 

All delights of summer weather ; 

All the buds and bells of May 

From dewy sward or thorny spray; 

All the heaped Autumn's wealth. 

With a still, mysterious stealth ; 

She will mix these pleasures up 

Like three fit wines in a cup, 

And thou shalt quaff it ; — thou shalt hear 

Distant harvest-carols clear ; 

Eustle of the reaped corn ; 

Sweet birds antheming the morn : 

And in the same moment — hark ! 

'Tis the eai'ly April lark, 

Or the rooks, with busy caw. 

Foraging for sticks and straw. 

Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 

The daisy and the marigold ; 

White-plumed lilies, and the first 

Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst ; 

Shaded hyacinth, alway 

Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; 

And every leaf, and ever}' flower, 

Pearled with the self-same shower. 

Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 

Meagre from its celled sleep ; 

And the snake all winter-thin 

Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 



BOOK FOURTH. 303 

Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 
Hatching in the hawthorn-tree, 
When the hen-bird's wing doth rest 
Quiet on her mossy nest ; 
Then the hurry and alarm 
AVhen the bee-hive casts its swarm ; 
Acorns ripe down-pattei-ing 
While the autumn breezes sing. 

O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 
Everything is spoilt by use ; 
Where's the cheek that doth not fade, 
Too much gazed at ? Where's the maid 
Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
Where's the eye, however blue, 
Doth not weary ? Where's the face 
One would meet in every place ? 
Where's the voice, however soft. 
One would hear so very oft ? 
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 
Like to bubbles w^hen rain pelteth. 
Let then winged Fancy find 
Thee a mistress to thy mind : 
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter 
Ere the God of Torment taught her 
How to frown and how to chide ; 
With a waist and with a side 
White as Hebe's, when her zone 
Slipt its golden clasp, and down 
Fell her kirtle to her feet 
While she held the goblet sweet, 
And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 
Of the Fancy's silken leash ; 
Quickly break her prison-string. 
And such joys as these she'll bring: 
— Let the winged Fancy roam ! 
Pleasure never is at home. 

J. Keats. 



304 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCLXXI. 
HYMN TO THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. 

Life of Life ! Thj lips enkindle 

With their love the breath between them ; 

And thy smiles, before they dwindle, 
Make the cold air fire; then screen them 

In those locks, where whoso gazes 

Faints, entangled in their mazes. 

Child of Light ! Thy limbs are burning 
Through the veil which seems to hide them, 

As the radiant lines of morning 

Through thin clouds, ere they divide them ; 

And this atmosphere divinest 

Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest. 

Fair are others : none beholds thee ; 

But thy voice sounds low and tender 
Like the fairest, for it folds thee 

From the sight, that liquid splendor ; 
And all feel, j^et see thee never, — 
As I feel now, — lost for ever ! 

Lamp of Earth ! where'er thou movest. 
Its dim shapes are clad with brightness. 

And the souls of whom thou lovest 
Walk upon the winds with lightness 

Till they fail, as I am failing, 

Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing ! 

P. B. Shelley. 



BOOK FOURTH. 305 

CCLXXII. 

WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. 

I heard a thousand blended notes 

While in a grove I sat reclined, 
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 

Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 

To her fair works did Nature link 

The human soul that through me ran ; 

And much it grieved my heart to think 
What Man has made of Man. 

Thi-ough primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, 

The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths 
And 'tis my faith that every flower 

Enjoys the air it breathes. 

The birds ai'ound me hopp'd and play'd, 

Their thoughts I cannot measure — 
But the least motion which they made 

It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. 

The budding twigs spread out their fan 

To catch the breezy air ; 
And I must think, do all I can, 

That there was pleasure there. 

If this belief from heaven be sent, 

If such be Nature's holy plan. 
Have I not reason to lament 

What Man has made of Man ? 

W. Wordsivorth. 



20 



306 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCLXXIII. 

RUTH: OR THE INFLUENCES OF NATURE. 

When Ruth was left half desolate, 
Her father took another mate ; 

And Ruth, not seven years old, 
A slighted child, at her own will 
Went wandering over dale and hill, 

In thoughtless freedom bold. 

And she had made a pipe of straw, 
And music from that pipe could draw 

Like sounds of winds and floods ; 
Had built a bower upon the green. 
As if she from her birth had been 

An infant of the woods. 

Beneath her father's roof, alone 

She seeni'd to live ; her thoughts her own ; 

Herself her own delight: 
Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay, 
yhe pass'd her time ; and in this way 

Grew up to woman's height. 

There came a youth from Georgia's shore — 
A military casque he wore 

With splendid feathers drest ; 
He brought them from the Cherokees ; 
The feathers nodded in the breeze 

And made a gallant crest. 

From Indian blood j^ou deem hira sprung: 
But no ! he spake the English tongue, 

And bore a soldier's name ; 
And, when America was free 
From battle and from jeopardy, 

He 'cross the ocean came. 



BOOK FOURTH. 307 

With hues of genius on his cheek, 

In finest tones the youth could siieak : 

— While he was yet a boy, 
The moon, the glory of the sun, 
And streams that murmur as they run, 

Had been his dearest joy. 

He was a lovely 3-0 uth ! I guess 
The panther in the wilderness 

Was not so fair as he ; 
And when he chose to sport and play, 
No dolphin ever was so gay 

Upon the tropic sea. 

Among the Indians he had fought ; 
And with him many tales he brought 

Of pleasure and of fear ; 
Such tales as, told to any maid 
By such a youth, in the green shade, 

Were perilous to hear. 

He told of girls, a happy rout ! 

Who quit their fold with dance and shout, 

Their pleasant Indian town, 
To gather strawberries all day long, 
Returning with a choral song 

When daylight is gone down. 

He spake of plants that hourly change 
Their blossoms, through a boundless range 

Of intermingling hues ; 
With budding, fading, faded flowers. 
They stand the wonder of the bowers 

From morn to evening dews. 

He told of the magnolia, spread 
High as a cloud, high overhead ! 



308 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The cypi'ess and her spire ; 
— Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam 
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 

To set the hills on fire. 

The youth of gi'een savannahs spake, 
And many an endless, endless lake, 

With all its fairy crowds 
Of islands, that together lie 
As quietly as spots of sky 

Among the evening clouds. 

And then he said, " How sweet it were, 
A fisher or a hunter there, 

In sunshine or in shade 
To wander with an easy mind, 
And build a household fire, and find 

A home in eveiy glade ! 

" What days and what bright years! Ah me 
Our life were life indeed, with thee 

So pass'd in quiet bliss ; 
And all the while," said he, " to know 
That we were in a world of woe, 

On such an earth as this !" 

And then he sometimes interwove 
Fond thoughts about a father's love, 

" For there," said he, " are spun 
Around the heart such tender ties, 
That our own children to our eyes 

Are dearer than the sun. 

" Sweet Euth ! and could you go with me, 
My helpmate in the woods to be. 

Our shed at night to rear. 
Or run, my own adopted bride, 
A sylvan huntress at my side. 

And drive the flying deer! 



BOOK FOURTH. 309 

" Beloved Ruth !" — No more he said. 
The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed 

A solitaiy teai-: 
She thought again — and did agree 
With him to sail across the sea, 

And drive the fl}' ing deer. 

"And now, as fitting is and right. 
We in the church our faith will plight, 

A husband and a wife." 
Even so they did ; and I may say 
That to sweet Ruth that happy day 

Was more than human life. 

Through dream and vision did she sink, 
Delighted all the while to think 

That, on those lonesome floods 
And green savannahs, she should share 
His board with lawful joy, and bear 

His name in the wild woods. 

But, as you have before been told, 
This stripling, sportive, gay, and bold, 

And with his dancing crest 
So beautiful, through savage lands 
Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands 

Of Indians in the West. 

The wind, the tempest roaring high, 
The tumult of a tropic sk}^, 

Might well be dangerous food 
For him, a youth to whom was given 
So much of earth, so much of heaven, 

And such impetuous blood. 

Whatever in those climes he found 
Irregular in sight or sound 



310 THE GOLDEN TREASURY, 

Did to his mind impart 
A kindred impulse, seem'd allied 
To his own powers, and justified 

The woi'kings of his heart. 

Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, 
The beauteous forms of Nature wrought,- 

Fair trees and gorgeous flowers ; 
The breezes their own languor lent , 
The stars had feelings, which they sent 

Into those favor'd bowers. 

Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween 
That sometimes there did intervene 

Pure hopes of high intent ; 
For passions link'd to forms so fair 
And stately, needs must have their share 

Of noble sentiment. 

But ill he lived, much evil saw 
With men to whom no better law 

Nor better life was known ; 
Deliberately and undeceived 
Those wild men's vices he received, 

And gave them back his own. 

His genius and his moral frame 
Were thus impair'd, and he became 

The slave of low desires : 
A man who without self-control 
Would seek what the degraded soul 

Unworthily admires. 

And yet he with no feign'd delight 
Had woo'd the maiden, day and night, 

Had loved her, night and morn : 
What could he less than love a maid 
Whose heart with so much nature play'd- 

So kind and so forlorn ? 



BOOK FOURTH. 31I 

Sometimes most earnestly he said, 

" O Ruth ! I have been worse than dead ; 

False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain, 
Encompass'd me on every side 
When I, in confidence and pride, 

Had cross'd the Atlantic main. 

" Before me shone a glorious world, 
Fresh as a banner bright unfurl'd 

To music suddenly : 
I look'd upon those hills and plains, 
And seem'd as if let loose from chains 

To live at liberty ! 

" No more of this — for now, by thee, 
Dear Ruth ! more happily set free, 

With nobler zeal I burn ; 
My soul from darkness is released. 
Like the whole sky when to the east 

No morning doth return." 

Full soon that better mind was gone ; 
No hope, no wish remain'd, not one, — 

They stirr'd him now no more ; 
New objects did new pleasui-e give, 
And once again he wish'd to live 

As lawless as before. 

Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, 
They for the voyage were prepared, 

And went to the sea-shore : 
But when they thither came, the youth 
Deserted his poor bride, and Ruth 

Could never find him moi"e. 

God help thee, Ruth ! — Such pains she had 
That she in half a year was mad 



312 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And in a prison housed ; 
And there, exulting in her wrongs, 
Among the music of her songs 

She fearfully caroused. 

Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, 
Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 

Nor pastimes of the May, 
— They all were with her in her cell ; 
And a clear brook with cheerful knell 

Did o'er the pebbles play. 

♦ 

When Ruth three seasons thus had lain. 
There came a respite to her pain ; 

She from her prison fled ; 
But of the vagi"ant none took thought ; 
And where it liked her best she sought 

Her shelter and her bread. 

Among the fields she breathed again : 
The master-current of her brain 

Ean permanent and free ; 
And, coming to the banks of Tone, 
There did she rest, and dwell alone 

Under the greenwood tree. 

The engines of her pain, the tools 

That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, 

And airs that gently stir 
The vernal leaves — she loved them still, 
Nor ever taxed them with the ill 

Which had been done to her. 

A barn her Winter bed supplies ; 
But till the warmth of Summer skies 

And Summer days is gone 
(And all do in this tale agree) 
She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree. 

And other home hath none. 



BOOK FOURTH. 313 

An innocent life, yet far astray! 
And Euth will, long before her day, 

Be broken down and old. 
iSore aches she needs must have .' but less 
Of mind than bod^^'s wretchedness, 

From dami>, and rain, and cold. 

If she is prest by want of food, 
She from her dwelling in the wood 

Repairs to a road-side. 
And there she begs at one steep place, 
Where up and down with easy pace 

The hoi'semen-travellers ride. 

That oaten pipe of hers is mute 
Or thrown away ; but with a flute 

Her loneliness she cheers : 
This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, 
At evening in his homeward walk 

The Quantock woodman hears. 

I, too, have pass'd her on the hills 
Setting her little water-mills 

By spouts and fountains wild — 
Such small machinery as she turn'd 
Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn'd, 

A young and happy child ! 

Farewell ! and when th}' days are told, 
Ill-fated Euth ! in hallow'd mould 

Thy corpse shall buried be ; 
For thee a funeral bell shall ring, 
And all the congregation sing 

A Christian psalm for thee. 

W. Wordsworth. 



314 THE GOLD EN TREASURY. 

CCLXXIV. 

WRITTEN IN THE EUGANEAN HILLS, NORTH ITALY. 

Many a green isle needs must be 
In the deep wide sea of misery, 
Or the mariner, worn and wan. 
Never thus could voyage on 
Day and night, and night and day, 
Drifting on his dreary way, 
With the solid darkness black 
Closing round his vessel's track, 
Whilst above the sunless sky, 
Big with clouds, hangs heavily, 
And behind the tempest fleet 
Hurries on with lightning feet, 
Riving sail, and cord, and plank. 
Till the ship has almost drank 
Death from the o'er-brimming deep. 
And sinks down, down, like that sleep 
When the dreamer seems to be 
Weltering through eternity ; 
And the dim low line before 
Of a dark and distant shore 
Still recedes, as ever still, 
Longing with divided will. 
But no power to seek or shun, 
He is ever drifted on. 
O'er the unreposing wave, 
To the haven of the grave. 

Ay, many flowering islands lie 
In the Avaters of wide agony : 
To such a one this morn was led 
My bark, by soft winds piloted. 
— 'Mid the mountains Euganean 
I stood listening to the paean 



BOOK FOURTH. 315 

With which the legion'd rooks did hail 
The sun's uprise majestical : 
Gathering round with wings all hoar, 
Through the dewj^ mist they soar, 
Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven 
Bursts, and then, — as clouds of even, 
Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie 
In the unfathomable sky, — 
So their plumes of purple grain, 
Starr'd with drops of golden rain, 
Gleam above the sunlight woods, 
As in silent multitudes 
On the morning's fitful gale 
Through the broken mist they sail ; 
And the vapors cloven and gleaming 
Follow down the dark steep streaming, 
Till all is bright, and clear, and still 
Eound the solitary hill. 



Beneath is spread like a green sea 
The waveless plain of Lombardy, 
Bounded by the vaporous air, 
Islanded by cities fair ; 
Underneath day's azure eyes, 
Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — 
A peopled labyrinth of walls, 
Amphitrite's destined halls, 
Which her hoary sire now paves 
With his blue and beaming waves. 
Lo ! the sun upsprings behind. 
Broad, red, radiant, half reclined 
On the level quivering line 
Of the waters crystalline ; 
And befoi-e that chasm of light. 
As within a furnace bright. 
Column, tow^er, and dome, and spire, 
Shine like obelisks of fire, 



316 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Pointing with inconstant motion 
From the altar of dark ocean 
To the sapphire-tinted skies ; 
As the flames of sacrifice 
From the marble shrines did rise 
As to pierce the dome of gold 
Where Apollo spoke of old. 

Sun-girt Citj" ! thou hast been 
Ocean's cbild, and then his queen ; 
Now is come a darker day, 
And thou soon must be his pi'ey. 
If the power that raised thee here 
Hallow so thy watery bier, 
A less drear ruin then than now, 
With thy conquest-branded brow 
Stooping to the slave of slaves 
From thy throne among the waves, 
Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew 
Flies, as once before it flew, 
O'er thine isles depopulate. 
And all is in its ancient state, 
Save where many a palace-gate, 
With green sea-flowers overgrown 
Like a rock of ocean's own. 
Topples o'er the abandon'd sea 
As the tides change sullenly. 
The fisher on his watery way 
Wandering at the close of day 
Will spread his sail and seize his oar 
Till he pass the gloomy shore, 
Lest thy dead should, from their sleep 
Bursting o'er the stax-light deep. 
Lead a rapid masque of death 
O'er the w^aters of his path. 

Noon descends around me now : 
'Tis the noon of autumn's glow. 



BOOK FOURTH. 3I7 

When a soft and purple mist, 
Like a vaporous amethyst, 
Or an aii'-dissolved star 
Mingling light and fragrance, far 
From the curved horizon's bound 
To the point of heaven's profound, 
Fills the overflowing sky ; 
And the j^lains that silent lie 
Underneath ; the leaves unsodden 
Where the infant frost has trodden 
With his morning- winged feet 
Whose bright print is gleaming yet ; 
And the red and golden vines 
Piercing with their trellised lines 
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness ; 
The dun and bladed grass no less. 
Pointing from this hoary lower 
In the windless air ; the flower 
Glimmering at my feet ; the line 
Of the olive-sandall'd Apennine 
In the south dimly islanded : 
And the Alps, whose snows are spread 
High between the clouds and sun ; 
And of living things each one ; 
And my spirit, which so long 
Darken'd this swift stream of song, — 
Interpenetrated lie 
By the glory of the sky ; 
Be it love, light, harmony, 
Odor, or the soul of all, 
Which from heaven like dew doth fall, 
Or the mind which feeds this verse 
Peopling the lone universe. 



Noon descends, and after noon 
Autumn's evening meets me soon, 
Leading the infantine moon 



318 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And that one star, which to her 
Almost seems to minister 
Half the crimson light she brings 
From the sunset's radiant springs; 
And the soft dreams of the morn 
(Which like winged winds had borne 
To that silent isle, which lies 
'Mid remember'd agonies, 
The frail bark of this lone being) 
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, 
And its ancient pilot, Pain, 
Sits beside the helm again. 

Other flowering isles must be 

In the sea of life and agony : 

Other spirits float and flee 

O'er that gulf: even now, perhaps, 

On some rock the wild wave wraps, 

With folding wings they waiting sit 

For my bark, to pilot it 

To some calm and blooming cove, 

Where for me, and those I love. 

May a windless bower be built, 

Far from passion, pain, and guilt. 

In a dell 'mid lawn}^ hills. 

Which the wild sea-murmur fills. 

And soft sunshine, and the sound 

Of old forests echoing round. 

And the light and smell divine 

Of all flowers that breathe and shine. 

— We may live so happy there, 

That the spirits of the air. 

Envying us, may even entice 

To our healing paradise 

The polluting multitude; 

But their rage would be subdued 

By that clime divine and calm, 

And the winds whose wings rain balm 



BOOK FOURTH. 319 

On the uplifted soul, and leaves 

Under which the bright sea heaves ; 

While each breathless interval 

In their whisperings musical 

The inspired soul supplies 

With its own deep melodies ; 

And the Love which heals all strife, 

Circling, like the breath of life, 

All things in that sweet abode 

With its own mild brotherhood. 

They, not it, would change ; and soon 

Every sprite beneath the moon 

Would repent its envy vain. 

And the Earth grow young again ! 

P. B. Shelley. 

CCLXXV. 

ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou 
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow 
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
With living hues and odors plain and hill : 
Wild Spirit, Avhich art moving everywhei-e ; 
Destroyer and Preserver; Hear, O hear! 

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion. 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, 
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, 
Angels of rain and lightning ; there are spread 



320 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

On the blue surface of thine aiiy surge, 

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

Of some fierce Msenad, ev'n from the dim verge 

Of the horizon to the zenith's height — 

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night 

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre. 

Vaulted with all thy congregated might 

Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere 

Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : O hear ! 

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay 

LuU'd by the coil of his crystalline streams 

Beside a pumice isle in Baise's bay. 

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 

Quivering within the wave's intenser day, 

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 

For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear 

The saj^less foliage of the ocean know 

Thy voice, and suddenly gi'ow gray with fear 

And tremble and despoil themselves : O hear ! 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 

If I Avcrc a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 

The impulse of thy strength, only less free 

Than thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 

I were as in my boyhood, and could be 

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 

As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed 

Scarce seem'd a vision, I would ne'er have striven 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 

lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 

1 fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 



BOOK FOURTH. 32 L 

A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd 
One too like thee, — tameless, and swift, and proud. 

Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is : 
What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 
Sweet though in sadness. Bo thou, Spirit fierce, 
My spirit ! be thou me, impetuous one ! 
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth ; 
And by the incantation of this verse, 
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth 
The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, 
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 

P. B. Shelley. 

CCLXXVI. 

NATURE AND THE POET. 

Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George 

Beaumont. 

I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged Pile ! 

Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee : 
I saw thee every day ; and all the while 

Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! 

So like, so very like, was day to daj'^ ! 
Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there; 

It trembled, but it never pass'd away. 

How pei'fect was the calm ! It seem'd no sleep, 
No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 

I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 
Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. 
21 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand 
To express what then I saw, and add the gleam, 

The light that never was on sea or land, 
The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — • 

I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile, 

Amid a world how different from this ! 
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; 

On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 

A picture had it been of lasting ease, 

Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; 
No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, 

Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. 

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 

Such picture would I at that time have made ; 

And seen the soul of truth in every part, 

A steadfast peace that might not be betray'd. 

So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; 

I have submitted to a new control : 
A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; 

A deep disti^ess hath humanized my soul. 

Not for a moment could I now behold 

A smiling sea, and be what I have been : 
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; 

This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 

Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the friend, 

If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, 
This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; 

This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 

O 'tis a passionate work ! — j-et wise and well. 

Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 
That hulk which labors in the deadly swell, 

This rueful sky, this pageantry of fearl 



BOOK FOURTH. 323 

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 
I love to see the look with which it braves 

— Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time — 

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, 
Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! 

Such happiness, wherever it be known, 
Is to be pitied ; for 'tis sui*ely blind. 

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer. 
And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 

Such sights, or worse, as are before me here : — 
Not without hope we suflFor and we mourn. 

W. Wordsworth. 

CCLXXVII. 

THE POET'S DREAM. 

On a Poet's lips I slept. 

Dreaming like a love-adept 

In the sound his breathing kept ; 

ISIor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, 

But feeds on the aerial kisses 

Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses. 

He wuU watch from dawn to gloom 

The lake-reflected sun illume 

The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom. 

Nor heed nor see what things they be — 
But from these create he can 
Forms more real than living Man, 

Nurslings of Immortality ! 

P. B. Shelley. 

CCLXXVIII. 

The World is too much with us ; late and soon. 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 
Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
"We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon 1 



324 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 
The winds that will be howling at all hours 
And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers, 
For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; 

It moves us not. — Great God ! I'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCLXXIX. 

WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE. 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, 
With ill-match' d aims the Architect who plann'd 
(Albeit laboring for a scanty band 
Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense 

And glorious work of fine intelligence ! 

— Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 

Of nicely-calculated less or more : — 

So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense 

These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 
Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells 
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 

Lingering and wandering on as loath to die^ — 
Like thoughts whose verj'" sweetness yieldeth proof 
That they were born for immortality. 

W. Wordsworth, 



BOOK FOURTH. 325 

CCLXXX. 

YOUTH AND AGE. 

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, 

Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — 
Both were mine ! Life went a-maying 
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
When I was young ! 
When I was young?— Ah, woful when ! 
Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! 
This breathing house not built with hands. 
This body that does me grievous wrong. 
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands 
How lightly then it flash'd along : 
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore. 

On winding lakes and rivers wide, 
That ask no aid of sail or oar, 

That fear no spite of wind or tide ! 
Nought cared this body for wind or weather 
When Youth and I lived in't together. 

Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; 

Friendship is a sheltering tree ; 
O ! the joys that came down shower-like, 

Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 
Ere I was old ! 
Ere I was old ?— Ah, woful Ere, 
Which tells me. Youth's no longer here I 
O Youth ! for years so many and sweet 

'Tis known that thou and I were one, 
I'll think it but a fond conceit — 

It cannot be, that thou art gone ! 
Thy vesper bell hath not yet toll'd : — 
And thou wert aye a masker bold ! 
What strange disguise hast now put on 
To make believe that thou art gone ? 



326 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

I see these locks in silvery slips, 

This drooping gait, this alter' d size : 

But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, 

And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! 

Life is but Thought : so think I will 

That Youth and I are housemates still. 

Dew-drops are the gems of morning, 

But the tears of mournful eve ! 
Where no hope is, life's a warning 
That only serves to make us grieve 
When we are old : 
— That only serves to make us gi'ieve 
With oft and tedious taking-leave. 
Like some poor nigh-related guest 
That may not rudely be dismist, 
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome- while, 
And tells the jest without the smile. 

S. T. Coleridge. 



CCLXXXI. 

THE TWO APRIL MOENINGS. 

We walk'd along, while bright and red 

Uprose the morning sun ; 
And Matthew stopp'd, he look'd, and said, 

" The will of God be done !" 

A village schoolmaster was he. 
With hair of glittering gray ; 

As blithe a man as you could see 
On a spring holiday. 

And on that morning, through the grass, 

And by the steaming rills. 
We travell'd merrily, to pass 

A day among the hills. 



BOOK FOURTH. 327 

" Our woi'k," said I, " was well begun ; 

Then, from thy breast what thought, 
Beneath so beautiful a sun, 

So sad a sigh has brought ?" 

A second time did Matthew stop ; 

And, fixing still his eye 
Upon the eastern mountain-top. 

To me he made reply : 

" Yon cloud with that long purple cleft 

Brings fresh into my mind 
A day like this, which I have left 

Full thirty years behind. 

" And just above yon slope of corn 

Such colors, and no other, 
Were in the sky that April morn, 

Of this the very brother. 

" With rod and line I sued the sport 

Which that sweet season gave, 
And, coming to the church, stopp'd short 

Beside my daughter's grave. 

"Nine summers had she scarcely seen, 

The pride of all the vale ; 
And then she sang : — she would have been 

A ver}^ nightingale. 

" Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; 

And yet I loved her more — 
For so it seem'd — than till that day 

I e'er had loved before. 

" And, turning from her grave, I met 

Beside the church-yard yew 
A blooming girl, whose hair was wet 

With points of morning dew. 



328 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

" A basket on her head she bare ; 

Her brow was smooth and white : 
To see a child so very fair, 

It was a pure delight ! 

" No fountain from its rocky cave 
E'er tripp'd with foot so free ; 

»She seem'd as happy as a wave 
That dances on the sea. 

" There came from me a sigh of pain 
Which I could ill confine ; 

I look'd at her, and look'd again, 
And did not wish her mine 1" 

— Matthew is in his grave, yet now 
Methinks I see him stand 

As at that moment, with a bough 
Of wilding in his hand. 

W. Wordsworth. 

CCLXXXII. 
THE FOUNTAIN. 

A Conversation. 

Wo talk'd with open heart, and tongue 

Affectionate and true, 
A pair of friends, though I was young, 

And Matthew seventy-two. 

We lay beneath a spreading oak, 

Beside a mossy seat ; 
And from the turf a fountain broke 

And gurgled at our feet. 

" Now, Matthew," said I, "let us match 
This water's pleasant tune 

With some old border song, or catch 
That suits a summer's noon. 



BOOK Founrii. 329 

" Or of the church-clock and the chimes 

Sing here beneath the shade 
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 

Which you last April made !" 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 

The spring beneath the tree ; 
And thus the dear old man replied, 

The gray-hair'd man of glee : 

"No check, no stay, this streamlet fears. 

How merrily it goes ! 
'Twill murmur on a thousand years 

And flow as now it flows. 

"And here, on this delightful day, 

I cannot choose but think 
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 

Beside this fountain's brink. 

" My eyes are dim with childish tears, 

My heart is idly stirr'd, 
For the same sound is in my ears 

Which in those days I heard. 

" Thus fares it still tn our decay : 

And yet the wiser mind 
Mourns less for what Age takes away 

Than what it leaves behind. 

" The blackbird amid leafy trees, 

The lark above the hill, 
Let loose their carols when they please, 

Are quiet when they will. 

" With Nature never do they wage 

A foolish strife ; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 

Is beautiful and free : 



330 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

" But we are press'd by heavy laws ; 

And often, glad no more, 
We wear a face of joy, because 

We have been glad of yore. 

" If there be one who need bemoan 

His kindred laid in earth, 
The household hearts that were his own,- 

It is the man of mirth. 

" My days, my friend, are almost gone, 
My life has been approved. 

And many love me ; but by none 
Am I enough beloved." 

"Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
The man who thus complains ! 

I live and sing my idle songs 
Upon these happy plains : 

And, Matthew, for thy children dead 
I'll be a son to thee!" 
At this he grasp'd my hand and said, 
"Alas! that cannot be." 

We rose up from the fountain-side ; 

And down the smooth descent 
Of the gi'cen sheep-track did we glide ; 

And through the wood we went ; 

And ere we came to Leonard's Eock 
He sang those witty rhymes 

About the crazy old church-clock, 
And the bewilder'd chimes. 

W. Wordsworth. 



BOOK FOURTH. 331 

CCLXXXIII. 
THE EIVER OF LIFE. 

The more we live, more brief appear 

Our life's succeeding stages ; 
A day to childhood seems a year, 

And years like passing ages. 

The gladsome current of our youth, 

Ere passion yet disorders, 
Steals lingering like a river smooth 

Along its grassy borders. 

But as the careworn cheek grows wan, 

And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 
Ye stars, that measure life to man, 

Why seem your courses quicker ? 

When joys have lost their bloom and breath. 

And life itself is vapid, 
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, 

Feel we its tide more rapid ? 

It may be strange — yet who would change 

Time's course to slower speeding, 
When one by one our friends have gone 

And left our bosoms bleedino; ? 



Heaven gives our years of fading strength 

Indemnifying fleetness ; 
And those of youth, a seeming length, 

Proportion'd to their sweetness. 

T. Campbell. 



332 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCLXXXIV. 

THE HUMAN SEASONS. 

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year ; 
There are four seasons in the mind of Man : 
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear 
Takes in all beauty with an easy span : 

He has his Summer, when luxuriously 
Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves 
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high 
Is nearest unto heaven : quiet coves 

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 
He furleth close ; contented so to look 
On mists in idleness — to let fair things 
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook : — 

He has his "Winter too of pale misfcature, 
Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 

J. Keats. 

CCLXXXV. 

A LAMENT. 

World ! O Life ! O Time ! 
On whose last steps I climb, 

Trembling at that where I had stood befoi*e ; 
When will return the glory of your prime ? 
No more — O never more ! 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight : 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
No more — O never more ! 

P. B. Shelley. 



BOOK FOURTH. 333 



CCLXXXVI. 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky : 
So was it when my life began, 
So is it now I am a man, 
So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die ! 
The Child is father of the Man : 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCLXXXVII. 

ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOL- 
LECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth, and eveiy common sight, 
To me did seem 
Apparell'd in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it has been of yore ; — 
Turn wheresoe'er I may, 
By night or day, 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more ! 

The rainbow comes and goes, 

And lovely is the rose ; 

The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 

"Waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. 



534 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

JS'ow, while the birds thiis sing a joyous song, 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief: 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong. 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, — 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong : 
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay j 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 

And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou child of joy. 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy shep- 
herd boy ! 



Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 

My heart is at your festival, 

My head hath its coronal, 
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 

evil day ! if I Avere sullen 
While Earth herself is adorning 

This sweet May morning ; 
And the children are pulling. 

On every side. 
In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm : — 

1 hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
— But there's a tree, of many, one, 

A single field which I have look'd upon, 

Both of them speak of something that is gone : 



BOOK FOURTH. 335 

The pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat : 
Whithei' is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 

Our birth is but a sleep and a foi'getting; 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
Hath had elsewhere its setting, 

And Cometh from afar ; 
Not in entire forgetfulness 
And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come 

From God, who is our home : 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy, 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The youth, who daily farther from the east 
Must travel, still is Nature's priest. 
And by the vision splendid 
Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind. 
And, even with something of a mother's mind 
And no unworthy aim. 

The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, 

Forget the glories he hath known 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 
See where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
With light upon him from his father's eyes! 



336 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

See, at bis feet, some little plan or chart, 
Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art: 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 

And this bath now his heart. 

And unto this be frames bis song : 
Q'ben will be fit bis tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ei'e this be thrown aside. 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part ; 
rilling from time to time his " humorous stage" 
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 
That life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensit}^ ; 
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou QyQ among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever bj^ the eternal Mind, — 

Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! 

On whom those truths do rest 
Which we are toiling oil our lives to find. 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy immortality 
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
A presence which is not to be put by ; 
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-boi*n freedom on thy being's height. 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke. 
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, 



BOOK FOURTH. 337 



And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 



O joy ! that in our embers 
Is something that doth live, 
That Nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : not indeed 
For that which is most worthy to be blest, 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest. 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: 
— Not for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings, 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised : 
But for those first affections. 
Those shadowy recollections. 

Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountainrlight of all our day, 
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; 

Uphold us — cherish — and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal silence : truths that wake 

To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 

Nor man nor boy. 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence, in a season of calm weather, 
Though inland fur we be, 
22 



338 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither ; 
Can in a moment travel thither — 
And see the children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! 
And let the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound ! 
We, in thought, will join 3'our throng, 
Ye that pipe and ye that play, 
Ye that through your hearts to-day 
Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight. 
Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower ; 
We will grieve not, rather find 
Strength in what remains behind. 
In the primal sympathy 
Which having been must ever be. 
In the soothing thoughts that spring 
Out of human suffering. 
In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

And O, 3^6 Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 

Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 

I only have relinquish'd one delight 

To live beneath your more habitual swa}^ ; 

I love the brooks which down their channels fret 

p]ven more than when I tripp'd lightly as they ; 

The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 



BOOK FOURTH. 339 

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears. 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep foi tears. 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCLXXXVIII. 

Music, when soft voices die. 
Vibrates in the memory ; 
Odors, when sweet violets sicken, 
Live within the sense they quicken. 

Eosc-leaves, when the rose is dead, 
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed ; 
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, 
Love itself shall slumber on. 

P. B. Shelley. 



BOOK FIFTH. 



CCLXXXIX. 

THE POET'S SONG. 

The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, 

He pass'd by the town and out of the street. 
A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, 

And waves of shadow went over the wheat, 
And he sat him down in a lonely place, 

And chanted a melody loud and sweet, 
That made the wild- swan pause in her cloud, 

And the lark drop down at his feet. 

The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee. 

The snake slipt under a spray, 
The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, 

And stared, with his foot on the prey, 
And the nightingale thought, " I have sung many songs, 

But never a one so gay. 
For he sings of what the world will be 

When the years have died away." 

A. Tennyson. 

CCXO. 

THE POET. 

The poet hath the child's sight in his breast. 
And sees all ncio. What oftenest he has view'd, 
He views with the first glory. Fair and good 
Pall never on him, at the fairest, best, 
340 



BOOK FIFTH. 341 

But stand before him holy and undress'd 
In week-day false conventions, such as would 
Drag other men down from the altitude 
Of primal types, too early dispossess'd. 

Why, God would tire of all His heaven as soon 

As thou, O godlike, childlike poet, didst, 

Of daily and nightly sights of sun and moon ! 

And therefore hath He set thee in the midst, 
Where men may hear thj^ wonder's ceaseless tune, 
And praise His world for ever as thou bidst. 

F, B. Browning. 



CCXCI. 

Come, Poet, come ! 
A thousand laborers ply their task. 
And what it tends to scarcely ask, 
And trembling thinkers on the brink 
Shiver, and know not how to think. 
To tell the purport of their pain, 
And what our silly joys contain ; 
In lasting lineaments portray 
The substance of the shadowy day; 
Our real and inner deeds rehearse. 
And make our meaning clear in verse ; 
Come, Poet, come ! for but in vain 
We do the work or feel the pain. 
And gather up the seeming gain. 
Unless before the end thou come 
To take, ere they are lost, their sum. 

Come, Poet, come ! 
To give an utterance to the dumb. 
And make vain babblers silent, come ; 
A' thousand dupes point here and there, 
Bewilder'd by the show and glare ; 



342 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And wise men half Lave learn'd to doubt 
Whether we are not best without. 
Come, Poet ; both but wait to see 
Their eri'or proved to them in thee. 

Come, Poet, come! 

In vain I seem to call. And yet 

Think not the living times forget. 

Ages of heroes fought and fell 

That Homer in the end might tell ; 

O'er grovelling generations past 

Up stood the Doric fane at last ; 

And countless hearts on countless years 

Had wasted thoughts, and hopes, and fears, 

Eude laughter and unmeaning tears, 

Ere England Shakespeare saw, or Eome 

The pure perfection of her dome. 

Others, I doubt not, if not we, 

The issue of our toils shall see ; 

Young children gather as their own 

The harvest that the dead had sown. 

The dead forgotten and unknown. 

A. H. Clough. 



CCXCII. 
AMPHIBIAN. 



The fancy I had to-day, — 
Fancy which turn'd a fear ! 

I swam far out in the bay, 

Since waves laugh'd warm and clear. 

I lay and look'd at the sun ; 

The noon-sun look'd at me 
Between us two, no one 

Live creature, that I could see. 



BOOK FIFTH. 343 

Yes ! — there came floating by 

Me, who lay floating too, 
Such a strange butterfly ! — 

Creature as dear as new ; 

Because the membraned wings, 

So wonderful, so wide. 
So sun-suffused, were things 

Like soul, and nought beside. 

A handbreadth overhead ! 

All of the sea my own, 
It own'd the sky instead : 

Both of us were alone. 

I never shall join its flight ; 

For nought buoys flesh in air. 
If it touch the sea, good-night ! 

Death sure and swift waits there. 

Can the insect feel the better 

For watching the uncouth play 
Of limbs that slip the fetter. 

Pretend as they were not clay? 

Undoubtedly I rejoice 

That the air comports so well 
With a creature which had the choice 

Of the land once. Who can tell? 

What if a certain soul 

Which early slipp'd its sheath, 
And has for its home the whole 

Of heaven, thus look beneath ; 

Thus watch one who in the world 

Both lives, and likes life's way, 
Nor wishes the wings unfurl'd 

That sleep in the worm, they say ? 



3i4 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

But sometimes, when the weather 
Is blue, and warm waves tempt 

To free one's self of tether, 
And try a life exempt 

From worldly noise and dust, 
In the sphere which overbrims 

With passion and thought, — why, just, 
Unable to fly, one swims ! 

By. passion and thought upborne, 
One smiles to one's self, "They fare 

Scarce better, they need not scorn 
Our sea, who live in the air." 

Emancipate through passion 
And thought, wnth sea for sky. 

We substitute, in a fashion. 
For heaven, poetry : 

Which sea, to all intent, 

Gives flesh such noon-disport 

As a finer element 
Affords the spirit-sort. 

Whatever they are, we seem ; 

Imagine the thing they know ; 
All deeds they do, we dream : 

Can heaven be else but so ? 

And, meantime, yonder streak 
Meets the horizon's verge : 

That is the land to seek, 

If we tire, or dread the surge, — 

Land the solid and safe, 

To welcome again (confess !) 

When, high and dry, we chafe 
The body, and don the dress. 



BOOK FIFTH. 345 

Does she look, pity, wonder. 

At one who mimics flight, 
Swims, — heaven above, sea under, 

Yet always earth in sight ? 

R. Browning. 



CCXCIII. 
THE VOYAGE. 

We left behind the painted buoy 

That tosses at the harbor-mouth ; 
And madly danced our hearts with joy, 

As fast we fleeted to the South : 
How fresh was every siglit and sound 

On open main or winding shore ! 
We knew the merry world was round, 

And we might sail for evermore. 

Warm broke the breeze against the brow, 

Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail : 
The Lady's-head upon the prow 

Caught the shrill salt, and sheer'd the gale. 
The broad seas swell'd to meet the keel, 

And swept behind : so quick the run. 
We felt the good ship shake and reel, 

We seem'd to sail into the Sun ! 

How oft we saw the Sun retire, 

And burn the threshold of the night, 
Fall from his Ocean-lane of fire, 

And sleep beneath his pillar'd light ! 
How oft the purple-skirted robe 

Of twilight slowly downward drawn, 
As through the slumber of the globe 

Again we dash'd into the dawn I 



B46 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

New stars all night above the brim 

Of waters lightcn'd into view ; 
They climb'd as quickly, for the rim 

Changed every moment as we flew. 
Far ran the naked moon across 

The houseless ocean's heaving field, 
Or flying shone, the silver boss 

Of her own halo's dusky shield ; 



The peaky islet shifted shapes. 

High towns on hills were dimly seen, 
We past long lines of Northern capes 

And dewy Northern meadows green. 
We came to warmer waves, and deep 

Across the boundless east we drove. 
Where those long swells of breaker sweep 

The nutmeg rocks and isles of cloves. 



By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, 

Grloom'd the low coast and quivering brine 
With ashy rains, that spreading made 

Fantastic plume or sable pine ; 
By sands and steaming flats and floods 

Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast, 
And hills and scarlet-mingled woods 

Glow'd for a moment as we past. 

O hundred shores of happy climes, 

How swiftly stream'd ye by the bark ! 
At times the whole sea burn'd, at times 

With wakes of fire we tore the dark ; 
At times a carven craft would shoot 

From havens hid in fairy bowers, 
With naked limbs and flowers and fruit. 

But we nor paused for fruit nor flowers. 



BOOK FIFTH. 347 

For one fair Vision ever fled 

Down the waste waters day and night, 
And still we follow'd where she led, 

In hope to gain upon her flight. 
Her face was evermore unseen, 

And fixt upon the far sea-line ; 
But each man murmur'd, " O my Queen, 

I follow till I make thee mine." 



And now we lost her, now she gleam'd 

Like Fancy made of golden air. 
Now neai'er to the prow she seem'd 

Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair, 
Now high on waves that idly burst 

Like Heavenly Hope she crown'd the sea, 
And now, the bloodless point reversed. 

She bore the blade of Liberty. 



And only one among us — hira 

We pleased not — he was seldom pleased ; 
He saw not far : his eyes were dim ; 

But ours he swore were all diseased. 
" A ship of fools," he shriek'd in spite, 

" A ship of fools," he sneer'd and wept. 
And overboard one stormy night 

He cast his body, and on we swept. 



And never sail of ours was furl'd. 

Nor anchor dropt at eve or morn ; 
We loved the glories of the world. 

But laws of nature were our scorn ; 
For blasts would rise and rave and cease, 

But whence were those that drove the sail 
Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, 

And to and through the counter-gale ? 



348 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Again to colder climes we came, 

For still we foUow'd where she led : 
Now mate is blind and captain lame, 

And half the crew are sick or dead. 
But blind or lame or sick or sound 

We follow that which flies before ; 
We know the merry world is round, 

And we may sail for evermore. 

A. Tennyson. 

CCXCIV. 

Where lies the land to which the ship would go? 
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. 
And where the land she travels from ? Away, 
Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 

On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth face, 
Link'd arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace ; 
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below 
The foaming wake far widening as we go ! 

On stormy nights when wild northwesters rave, 
How proud a thing to fight with Avind and wave \ 
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast 
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past. 

Where lies the land to which the ship would go? 
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. 
And where the land she travels from ? Awaj', 
Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 

A. H. Cloiigh. 

ccxcv. 

Break, break, break. 

On thy cold gray stones, O sea ! 

And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 



BOOK FIFTH. 3-49 

O well for the fisherman's boy 
- That he shouts with his sister at play ! 
O well for the sailor lad 

That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 

And the stately ships go on 

To their haven under the hill; 
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, O sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me. 

A. Tennyson. 

CCXCVI. 
THE THREE FISHERS. 

Three fishers went sailing away to the west, 
Away to the west as the sun went down ; 
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, 
And the children stood watching them out of the town ; 
For men must work, and women must weep, 
And there's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Though the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower, 

And they trimm'd the lamps as the sun went down ; 
The}^ look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the shower, 
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown. 
But men must work, and women must weep. 
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep. 
And the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 
In the morning gleam as the tide went down, 

And the women are weeping and wringing their hands 
For those who will never come home to the town ; 



350 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

For men must work, and women must weep, 
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep ; 

And good-by to the bar and its moaning. 

C. Kingsley. 



CCXCVII. 

THE SANDS OF DEE. 

" O Mary, go and call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home. 
And call the cattle home 
Across the sands of Dee :" 
The western wind was wild and dank with foam. 
And all alone went she. 

The western tide crept up along the sand. 
And o'er and o'er the sand, 
And round and round the sand. 
As far as eye could sec. 
The rolling mist came down and hid the land: 
And never home came she. 

" Oh ! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 
A tress of golden hair, 
A drowned maiden's hair 
Above the nets at sea? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair 
Among the stakes on Dee." 

They row'd her in across the rolling foam, 
The cruel crawling foam, 
The cruel hungry foam. 
To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home 
Across the sands of Dee. 

C. Kingsley. 



BOOK FIFTH. 351 

CCXCVIII. 
THE BROOK. 

I come from baunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down, 

Or slip between the ridges, 
By twenty thorps, a little town, 

And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow 

To join the brimming river, 
For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 

In little sharps and trebles, 
I bubble into eddying bays, 

I babble on the pebbles. 

With manj^ a curve my banks I fret. 

By many a field and fallow, 
And many a fairy foreland set 

With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 

To join the brimming river, 
For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 

I wind about, and in and out. 

With here a blossom sailing, 
And here and there a lusty trout. 

And here and there a grayling. 



352 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And hero and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 

And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimming river 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
I slide by hazel covers ; 

I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows ; 

1 make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 

I murmur under moon and stars 
In brambly wildernesses ; 

I linger by my shingly bars; 
I loiter round my cresses ; 

And out again I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

A. Tennyson. 



CCXCIX. 
A FAEEWELL. 

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea 
Thy tribute wave deliver : 

No more by thee my steps shall be, 
For ever and for ever. 



BOOK FIFTH. 353 

Flow, softly flow, by luwn and lea, 

A rivulet then a river : 
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, 

For ever and for ever. 

But here will sigh thine alder-tree, 

And here thine aspen shiver, 
And here by thee will hum the bee. 

For ever and for ever. 

A thousand suns will stream on thee, 

A thousand moons will quiver; 
But not by thee my steps shall be. 

For ever and for ever. 

A. Tennyson. 



CCC. 

WATER SONG. 

Clear and cool, clear and cool, 
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool ; 

Cool and clear, cool and cleai", 
By shining shingle, and foaming wear; 
Under the crag where the ouzel sings, 
And the ivied wall where the church bell rings, 
TJndefiled, for the undefiled ; 
Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. 

Dank and foul, dank and foul, 
By the smoky town in its murky cowl ; 

Foul and dank, foul and dank. 
By wharf and sewer and slimy bank ; 
Darker and darker the further I go, 
Baser and baser the richer I grow ; 

Who dare sport with the sin-defiled? 
Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. 
23 



354 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Strong and free, sti'ong and free ; 
The floodgates are open, away to the sea. 

Free and strong, fi*ee and strong, 
Cleansing my streams as I hurry along 
To the golden sands, and the leaping bar, 
And the taintless tide that awaits me afar. 
As I lose myself iu the infinite main, 
Like a soul that has sinn'd and is pardon'd again. 
Undcfiled, for the undefiled ; 
Play by mc, bathe in me, mother and child. 

C. Kingsley. 



CCCI. 



IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ. 

All along the valley, stream that flashes! white. 

Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night, 

All along the valley, where thy waters flow, 

I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years ago. 

All along the valley while I walk'd to-daj^. 

The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away ; 

For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed. 

Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead, 

And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree, 

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me. 

A. Tennyson. 



CCCII. 

Tears, idle teai's, I know not what they mean, 
Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
Eise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
In looking on the happy autumn-fields, 
And thinking of the days that are no more. 



BOOK FIFTH. 355 

Fresh as the fii'st beam glittering on a sail 
That brings our friends up from the underworld, 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks Avith all we love below the vei"ge ; 
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns 

The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds 

To djang ears, when unto dying eyes 

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; 

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 

Dear as remember'd kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd 
On lips that are for others ; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; 
O Death in Life, the days that are no more ! 

A. Tennyson. 

* CCCIII. 

TEAES. 

Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not 
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well — 
That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell, 
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. 

Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot, 
The mother singing ; at her mai-riage-bell 
The bride weeps ; and before the oracle 
Of high-faned hills, the poet has forgot 

Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace, 
Ye who weep only ! If, as some have done. 
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place, 

And touch but tombs, — look up ! Those tears will run 
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face. 
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun. 

E. B. Browning. 



336 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCCIV. 

GEIEF. 

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless, — 
That only men incredulous of despair, 
Half taught in anguish, through the midnight air 
Beat upward to God's throne in loud access 

Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness, 

In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare 

Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare 

Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express 

Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death ; 

Most like a monumental statue set 

In everlasting watch and moveless woe, 

Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. 
Touch it : the marble ej-elids are not wet — 
If it could weep, it could arise and go. 

E. B. Broiuning. 



cccv. 
A FOESAKEN GARDEN. 

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, 
At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, 

Wall'd round with rocks as an inland island, 
The ghost of a garden fronts the sea. 

A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses 
The steep square slope of the blossomless bed 

Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses 
Now lie dead. 



BOOK FIFTH. 357 

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken, 

To the low last edge of the long lone land. 
If a step should sound or a woi'd be spoken, 

AVould a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand? 
So long have the gray bare walks lain guestless. 

Through branches and briers if a man make way, 
He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless 
Night and day. 



The dense hard passage is blind and stifled 
That crawls, by a track none turn to climb, 

To the strait waste place that the years have rifled 
Of all but the thorns that are touch'd not of Time. 

The thorns he spares when the rose is taken ; 
The rocks are left when he wastes the plain. 

The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken, 
These remain. 



Not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls not ; 

As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry ; • 
From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not, 

Could she call, there were never a rose to reply. 
Over the meadows that blossom and wither 

Eings but the note of a sea-bird's song; 
Only the sun and the rain come hither 
All year long. 



The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels 
One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath. 

Only the wind here hovers and revels 

In a round where life seems barren as death. 

Hei'e there was laughing of old, there was weeping, 
Haply, of lovers none ever will know, 

Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping 
Years ago. 



358 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

Heart handfast in heart as they stood, "Look thither," 
Did he whisper? "Looli forth from the flowers to the sea 

For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither. 
And men that love lightly may die — but we?" 

And the same wind sang, and the same waves whiten'd, 
And or ever the garden's last petals were shed. 

In the lips that had whispcr'd, the eyes that had lighten'd. 
Love was dead. 



Or they loved their life through, and then went whither ? 

And were one to the end — but what end who knows ? 
Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither. 

As the rose-red sea-weed that mocks the rose. 
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them? 

What love was ever as deep as a grave ? 
They are loveless now as the grass above them 
Or the wave. 



All are at one now, roses and lovers, 

Not known of the clifl's and the fields and the sea. 
Not a breath of the time that has been hovers 

In the air now soft with a summer to be. 
Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter 

Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep. 
When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter 
We shall sleep. 



Here death may deal not again for ever ; 

Here change may come not till all change end. 
From the graves thcj' have made they shall rise up never. 

Who have left nought living to ravage and rend. 
Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing. 

While the sun and the rain live, these shall be ; 
Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing 
Roll the sea. 



BOOK FIFTH. 359 

Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, 
Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, 

Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble 
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink, 

Here now in his triumph where all things falter, 

Stretch'd out on the spoils that his own hand spread. 

As a god self-slain on his own strange altar. 

Death lies dead. 
' A. C. Swinburne. 



CCCVI. 

DOVER BEACH. 

The sea is calm to-night. 

The tide is full, the moon lies fair 

Upon the sti'aits : on the French coast the light 

Gleams and is gone ; the cliffs of England stand, 

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil hsij. 

Come to the window : sweet is the night air ! 

Onl}^, from the long line of spray 

Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd sand, 

Listen ! you hear the grating roar 

Of pebbles which the waves di-aw back, and fling. 

At their return, up the high strand, 

Begin, and cease, and then again begin, 

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 

The eternal note of sadness in. 



Sophocles long ago 

Heard it on the ^Egean, and it brought 

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow 

Of human misery ; we 

Find also in the sound a thought. 

Hearing it by this distant Northern sea. 



360 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The sea of faith 

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore 

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. 

But now I only hear 

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, 

Retreating, to the breath 

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear 

And naked shingles of the world. 

Ah, love, let us be true 

To one another! for the world, which seems 

To lie before us like a land of dreams, 

So various, so beautiful, so new, 

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, 

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain ; 

And Ave are here, as on a darkling plain 

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, 

Where ignorant armies clash by night. 

M. Ai-nold. 

CCCVII. 
TWILIGHT CALM. 

O pleasant eventide ! 

Clouds on the western side 
Grow gray and grayer, hiding the warm sun : 
The bees and birds, their haj^py labors done, 

Seek their close nests and bide. 

Screen'd in the leafy wood 

The stock doves sit and brood : 
The very squirrel leaps from bough to bough 
But lazily ; pauses ; and settles now 

Where once he stored his food. 

One by one the flowers close, 

Lily and dewy rose 
Shutting their tender petals from the moon : 
The grasshoppers are still ; but not so soon 

Are still the noisy crows. 



BOOK FIFTH. ' 361 

The dormouse squats and eats 

Choice little dainty bits 
Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime: 
Nibbling his fill he stops from time to time 

And listens where he sits. 



Fi'om far the lowings come 

Of cattle driven home : 
From farthei' still the wind brings fitfully 
The vast continual murmur of the sea, 

Now loud, now almost dumb. 

The gnats whirl in the air, 

The evening gnats ; and there 
The OAvl opes broad his e^^es and wings to sail 
For prey ; the bat wakes ; and the shell-less snail 

Comes forth, clammy and bare. 

Hark ! that's the nightingale, 

Telling the self-same tale 
Her song told when this ancient earth was young ; 
So echoes answer'd when her song was sung 

In the first wooded vale. 



We call it love and pain 
The passion of her strain ; 
And yet we little understand or know : 
Why should it not be rather joy that so 
Throbs in each throbbing vein ? 



In separate herds the deer 

Lie ; here the bucks, and here 
The does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn : 
Through all the hours of night until the dawn 

They sleep, forgetting fear. 



362 I'HE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The hare sleeps where it lies, 

"With wary half-closed ej^es ; 
The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck : 
Only the fox is out, some heedless duck 

Or chicken to surprise. 

Eemotc, each single star 

Comes out, till there they are 
All shining brightly : how the dews fall damp ! 
While close at hand the glow-worm lights her lamp 

Or twinkles from afar. 

But evening now is done 

As much as if the sun 
Day-giving had arisen in the east : 
For night has come ; and the great calm has ceased, 

The quiet sands have run. 

C G. Rossetti. 



CCCVIII. 

LINES WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. 

In this lone, open glade I lie, 

Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand ; 
And at its end, to stay the eye, 

Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand ! 

Birds here make song, each bird has his. 

Across the girdling city's hum. 
How green under the boughs it is ! 

How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come ! 

Sometimes a child will cross the glade 

To take his nurse his broken toj^ ; 
Sometimes a thrush flit overhead 

Deep in her unknown day's employ. 



BOOK FIFTH. 363 

Here at my feet what Avonders pass, 

What endless, active life is here! 
What blowing daisies, fragrant grass ! 

An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear. 

Scarce fresher is the raountain sod 

Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out, 

And, eased of basket and of rod, 

Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout. 

In the huge world, which roars hard by, 

Bo others happy if they can ! 
But in my helpless cradle I 

Was breathed on by the rural Pan. 

I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd, 

Think often, as I hear them rave, 
That peace has left the upper world 

And now keeps only in the grave. 

Yet here is peace for ever new ! 

When I who watch them am away, 
Still all things in this glade go through 

The changes of their quiet day. 

Then to their happy rest they pass ! 

The flowers upclose, the birds are fed, 
The night comes down upon the grass, 

The child sleeps warmly in his bed. 

Calm soul of all things! make it mine 

To feel, amid the city's jar. 
That there abides a peace of thine, 

Man did not make, and cannot mar. 

The will to neither strive nor cry, 

The power to feel with others give ! 
Calm, calm me more ! nor let me die 

Before I have begun to live. 

M. Arnold. 



364 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 



CCCIX. 



The chrysolites and rubies Bacchus brings 

To crown the feast where swells the broad-vein'd brow, 
Where maidens blush at what the minstrel sings, 

They who have coveted may covet now. 

Bring me, in cool alcove, the grape uncrush'd, 
The peach of pulpy cheek and down mature, 

Where every voice (but bird's or child's) is hush'd. 
And every thought, like the brook nigh, runs pure. 

W. <S'. Landor. 



CCCX. 
SEA-MEWS IN WINTER TIME. 

I walk'd beside a dark gray sea, 

And said, "O world, how cold thou art! 

Thou poor white world, I pity thee, 
For joy and warmth from thee depart. 

" Yon rising wave licks off the snow„ 
Winds on the crag each other chase, 

In little powdery whirls they blow 
The misty fragments down its face. 

" The sea is cold, and dark its rim. 
Winter sits cowering on the wold. 

And I, beside this watery brim. 
Am also lonely, also cold." 

I spoke, and drew toward a rock, 

Where many mews made twittering sweet ; 
Their wings uprear'd, the clustering flock 

Did pat the sea-grass with their feet. 



BOOK FIFTH. 3G: 

A rock but half submerged, the sea 

Ran up and wash'd it while they fed ; 
Their fond and foolish ecstasy 

A wondering in my fancy bred. 

Joy companied with every cry, 

Joy in their food, in that keen wind, 
That heaving sea, that shaded sky, 

And in themselves, and in their kind. 

The phantoms of the deep at play ! 

What idless graced tbe twittering things j 
Luxurious paddlings in the spray, 

And delicate lifting up of wings. 

Then all at once a flight, and fast 

The lovel}" crowd flew out to sea; 
If mine own life had been recast. 

Earth had not looked more changed to me. 

" Where is the cold ? Yon clouded skies 

Have only dropp'd their curtains low 
To shade the old mother whore she lies, 

Sleeping a little, 'neath the snow. 

" The cold is not in crag, nor scar, 

Not in the snows that lap the lea, 
Not in yon wings that beat afar, 

Delighting, on the crested sea; 

" No, nor in yon exultant wind 

That shakes the oak and bends the pine. 

Look near, look in, and thou shalt find 
No sense of cold, fond fool, but thine!" 

With that I felt the gloom depart. 

And thoughts within me did unfold, 
Whose sunshine warm'd me to the heart : 

I walk'd in joy, and was not cold. 

J. Ingelow, 



366 ^^^' GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCCXI. 

SELF-DEPENDENCE. 

Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
What I am, and wliat I ought to be, 

At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
Forward, forward, o'er the starlit sea. 

And a look of passionate desire 

O'er the sea and to the stars I send : 

"Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me, 
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end! 

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye w^aters, 
On my heart your mighty charm renew; 

Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you. 
Feel my soul becoming vast like you !" 

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, 

Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 
In the rustling night air came the answer: 

" Wouldst thou he as these are ? Live as they. 

" Unaffrighted by the silence round them, 
TJndistracted by the sights they see, 

These demand not that the things without them 
Yield them love, amusement, sjmipathy. 

" And with joy the stars perform their shining, 
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll ; 

For self-poised the}^ live, nor pine with noting 
All the fever of some differing soul. 

"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 
In what state God's other works may be, 

In their own tasks all their powers pouring. 
These attain the mighty life you see." 



BOOK FIFTH. 367 

O air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, 
A cry like thine in my own heart I hear : 
"Eesolveto be thyself; and know that he 
Who finds himself loses his miserj^ !" 

M. Arnold. 



CCCXII. 

PATIENCE TAUGHT BY NATURE. 

" dreary life !" we cry, '• O dreary life !" 

And still the generations of the birds 

Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds 

Serenely live while we are keeping strife 

With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife 
Against which we may struggle. Ocean girds 
TJnslacken'd the dry land ; savannah-swards 
Unweary sweep ; hills watch, unworn ; and rife 

Meek leaves drop yeai*ly from the forest-trees, 
To show above the unwasted stars that pass 
In their old glorj-. O thou God of old ! 

Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these; — 
But so much patience as a blade of grass 
Grows by contented through the heat and cold. 

E. B. Browning. 



CCCXIII. 

QUIET WORK. 

One lesson, Nature, let mo learn of thee, 
One lesson which in every wind is blown. 
One lesson of two duties kept at one 
Though the loud world proclaim their enmity- 



3t58 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Of toil unsever'd from tranquillity ; 
Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows 
Far noisier schemes, accomplish'd in repose, 
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry. 

Yes, while on earth a thousand discords I'ing, 
Man's senseless uproar mingling with his toil, 
Still do thy quiet ministers move on, 

Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting ; 
Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil, 
Laborers that shall not fail, when man is gone. 

M. Arnold. 



CCCXIV. 

THE NILE. 

It flows through old hush'd Egj-pt and its sands. 
Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream, 
And times and things, as in that vision, seem 
Keeping along it their eternal stands, — 

Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands 

That roara'd through the young world, the glory extreme 

Of high Sesostris, and that southern beam. 

The laughing queen that caught the world's great hands. 

Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong. 

As of a world left empty of its throng. 

And the void weighs on us ; and then we wake, 

And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along 
'Twixt villages, and think how we shall take 
Our own calm journey on for human sake. 

J. L. Hunt. 



BOOK FIFTH. 369 

CCCXV. 

CHOEIC SONG OF THE LOTOS-EATERS. 

There is sweet music here that softer falls 
Than petals from blown roses on the grass. 
Or night-dews on still waters between walls 
>0f shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; 
Music that gentler on the spirit lies 
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes ; 

Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. 
Here are cool mosses deep, 
And through the moss the ivies ci'eep, 
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 

Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness. 

And utterly consumed with sharp distress. 

While all things else have rest from weariness ? 

All things have rest : why should we toil alone, 

We only toil, who are the first of things, 

And make perpetual moan, 

Still from one sorrow to another thrown ; 

Nor ever fold our wings. 

And cease from wanderings, 

Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; 

Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings, 

" There is no joy but calm !" 

Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? 

Lo ! in the middle of the wood, 
The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud 
With winds upon the branch, and there 
Grows green and broad, and takes no care, 
Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon 
Nightly dew-fed; and, turning yellow. 
Falls, and floats adown the air. 

24 



370 THE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

Lo ! svveeten'd with the summer light, 

The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, 

Drops in a silent autumn night. 

All its allotted length of da^-s, 

The flower ripens in its place, 

Eipens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, 

Fast rooted in the fruitful soil. 



Hateful is the dark-blue sky, 

Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. 

Death is the end of life ; ah, why 

Should life all labor be ? 

Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, 

And in a little while our lips are dumb. 

Let us alone. What is it that will last? 

All things are taken from us, and become 

Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. 

Let us alone. What pleasure can we have 

To war with evil ? Is there any peace 

In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? 

All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 

In silence, — ripen, fall, and cease ; 

Give us long rest or death, dark death or dreamful ease. 

How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, 

With half shut eyes ever to seem 

Falling asleep in a half dream ! 

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light. 

Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height j 

To hear each other's whisper'd speech ; 

Eating the Lotos day by day, 

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, 

And tender curving lines of creamy spray ; 

To lend our hearts and spirits wholly 

To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; 

To muse and brood and live again in memory, 

With those old faces of our infancy 



BOOK FIFTH. 371 

Heap'd over with a mound of grass, 

Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass I 

Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, 

And dear the last embraces of our wives 

And their warm tears : but all hath suffer'd change ; 

For surely now our household hearths are cold : 

Our sons inhei'it us : our looks are strange; 

And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. 

Or else the island princes over-bold 

Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings 

Before them of the ten years' war in Tro}'^, 

And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. 

Is there confusion in the little isle ? 

Let what is broken so remain. 

The Gods are hard to reconcile : 

'Tis hard to settle order once again. 

There is confusion worse than death, 

Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, 

Long labor unto aged breath. 

Sore task to hearts worn out with many wars 

And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. 

But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, 
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowl}'-) 
With half-dropt eyelids still, 
Beneath a heaven dark and holy. 
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 
His waters from the purple hill — 
To hear the dewy echoes calling 
From cave to cave through the thick-twined vine — 
To watch the emerald-color'd water falling- 
Through many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine ! 
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, 
Onl}^ to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine. 

The Lotos blooms below the barren peak : 
The Lotos blows by every winding creek: 



372 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: 
Through every hollow oave and alley lone 

Eound and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. 
We have had enough of action, and of motion we, 
Pull'd to starboard, )-oll'd to larboard when the surge was seeth- 
ing free, 
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the 

sea. 
Lot us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind. 
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined 
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. 
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd 
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds ai"e lightly curl'd 
Eound their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world : 
Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands. 
Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery 

sands, 
Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and pray- 
ing hands. 
But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song 
Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, 
Like a tale of little meaning though the words are strong. 
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, 
Sow the seed and reap the harvest with enduring toil, 
Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine, and oil ; 
Till they perish and they suffer — some, 'tis whisper'd, down in 

hell 
Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, 
Eesting weaiy limbs at last on beds of asphodel. 
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore 
Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; 
O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. 

A. Tennyson. 



BOOK FIFTH. 373 

CCCXVI. 
HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD. 

Oh, to be in England, 

Now that April's there, 

And whoever wakes in England 

Sees, some morning, unaware, 

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf 

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, 

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 

In England, — now ! 

And after April, when May follows. 
And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows, — 
Hark ! where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge 
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 
Blossoms and dew-drops,— at the bent spray's edge, — 
That's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over, 
Lest you should think he never could recapture 
The first fine, careless rapture ! 

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, 
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew 
The buttercups, the little children's dower, 
— Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower ! 

R. Browning. 

CCCXVII. 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story ; 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 

And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear. 

And thinner, clearer, farther going! 
O sweet and far from cliff and scar 

The horns of Elf-land faintly blowing ! 



374 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying ; 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in 3'on rich sky. 

They faint on hill or field or river: 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul. 

And grow for ever and for ever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

A. Tennyson. 



CCCXVIII. 

MEETING AT NIGHT. 

The gray sea and the long black land ; 
And the yellow half-moon largo and low ; 
And the startled little waves that leap 
In fiery ringlets from their sleep. 
As I gain the cove with pushing prow, 
And quench its speed in the slushy sand. 

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach ; 

Three fields to cross till a farm appears ; 

A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch 

And blue spurt of a lighted match, 

And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, 

Than the two hearts beating each to each ! • 

R. Bi'owning. 

CCCXIX. 

Come into the garden, Maud, 

For the black bat, night, has flown, 

Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate alone ; 

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 
And the musk of the roses blown. 



£00/1 FIFTH. 375 

For a breeze of morning moves, 

And the planet of Love is on high, 
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves 

On a bed of daffodil sky, 
To faint in the light of the sun she loves, 

To faint in his liicht, and to die. 



All night have the roses heard 

The flute, violin, bassoon ; 
All night has the easement jessamine stirr'd 

To the dancers dancing in tune ; 
Till a silence fell with the waking bird. 

And a hush with the setting moon. 



I said to the lily, " There is but one 

With whom she has heart to be gay. 
When will the dancers leave her alone ? 

She is weary of dance and play." 
Now half to the setting moon are gone. 

And half to the rising day ; 
Low on the sand and loud on the stone 

The last wheel echoes away. 

I said to the rose, " The brief night goes 

In babble and revel and wine, 
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those. 

For one that will never be thine ? 
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, 

" For ever and ever, mine." 

And the soul of the rose went into my blood. 

As the music clash'd in the hall ; 
And long by the garden lake I stood, 

For I heard your rivulet fall 
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, 

Our wood, that is dearer than all ; 



376 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

From the meadow joxxv walks have left so sweet 
That whenever a March-wind sighs 

He sets the jewel-print of 3^our feet 
In violets blue as 3'our eyes, 

To the woody hollows in which we meet, 
And the valleys of Paradise. 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long milk-bloom on the tree ; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake 

As the pimj^ernel dozed on the lea ; 
But the rose was awake all night for your sake, 

Knowing your pi'omise to me ; 
The lilies and roses were all awake, 

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee. 

Queen rose of the rose-bud garden of girls, 
Come hither, the dances are done, 

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. 
Queen lily and rose in one ; 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls. 
To the flowers, and be their sun. 



There has fallen a splendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 
She is coming, my dove, my dear; 

She is coming, my life, my fate; 
The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near ;' 

And the while rose weeps, "She is late ;" 
The larkspur listens, " I hear, I hear ;" 

And the lily whispers, " I wait." 

She is coming, my own, my sweet ; 

"Were it ever so sary a tread, 
My heart would hear her and beat, 

Wei'e it earth in an earthy bed; 



BOOK FIFTH. 377 

My dust would hear her and beat, 

Had I lain for a century dead ; 
Would start and tremble under her feet, 

And blossom in purj^lc and red. 

A. Tennyson. 

CCCXX. 

LOVE-SIGHT. 

When do I see thee most, beloved one? 

When in the light the spirits of mine eyes 

Before thy face, their altar, solemnize 

The worship of that Love through thee made known ? 

Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) 
Close-kissed and eloquent of still rej)lies 
Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies, 
And my soul only sees thy soul its own ? 

O love, my love ! if I no more should see 
Th^^self, nor on the earth the shadow of thee. 
Nor image of thine eyes in any spring, — 

How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope 
The ground-whirl of the perish'd leaves of Hope, 
The wind of Death's imperishable wing? 

D. G. Rossetii. 

CCCXXI. 

LOVE-SWEETNESS. 

Sweet dimness of her loosen'd hair's downfall 
About thy face; her sweet hands round thy head 
In gracious fostering union garlanded ; 
Her tremulous smiles ; her glances' sweet recall 

Of love; her murmuring sighs memorial ; 

Her mouth's cull'd sweetness by thy kisses shed 

On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led 

Back to her mouth which answers there for all : — 



378 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

What sweeter than these things, except the thing 
In lacking which all these would lose their sweet: — 
The confident heart's still fervor : the swift beat 

And soft subsidence of the spirit's wing, 
Then when it feels, in cloud-girt wayfaring, 
The breath of kindred plumes against its feet? 

D. O. Rossetti. 



CCCXXII. 

INCLUSIONS. 

Oh, wilt thou have my hand, Dear, to lie along in thine ? 
As a little stone in a running stream, it seems to lie and pine! 
Now dro]^ the poor pale hand. Dear, unfit to plight with thine. 

Oh, wilt thou have my cheek, Dear, drawn closer to thine own? 
My cheek is white, m}^ cheek is worn, by many a tear run down. 
Now leave a little space, Dear, lest it should wet thine own. 

Oh, must thou have my soul. Dear, commingled with thy soul? — 
Eed grows the cheek, and warm the hand, — the part is in the 

whole ! 
Nor hands nor cheeks keep separate, when soul is join'd to soul. 

E. B. Browning. 

CCCXXIII. 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung 

Of the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-for years 

Who each one in a gracious hand appears 

To bear a gift for mortals, old or j-oung: 

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 
I saw in gradual vision thi'ough my tears 
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy j^ears, 
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung 



BOOK FIFTH. 379 

A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, 
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move 
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair ; 

And a voice said in mastery while I strove, 

" Guess now who holds thee ?" — " Death !" 1 said. But there. 

The silver answer rang, " Not Death, but Love." 

E. B. Broiunmg. 



CCCXXIV. 

If thou must love me, let it bo for nought 
Except for love's sake on\j. Do not say, 
"I love her for her smile, — her look, — her way 
Of speaking gently, — for a trick of thought 

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought 

A sense -of pleasant ease on such a day;" — 

For these things in themselves, Beloved, may 

Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so wrought 

May be un wrought so. Neither love me for 
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry; 
A creature might forget to weep who bore 

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Thou may'st love on through love's eternity. 

E. B. Browning. 



CCCXXV. 

Say over again and yet once over again 
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated 
Should seem " a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it, 
Eemember never to the hill or plain, 



3S0 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain, 
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed ! 
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted 
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain 

Cry . . speak once more . . thou lovest ! Who can fear 
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll — 
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the 3'ear? 

Say thou dost love me, love me, love me — toll 
The silver iterance! — only minding. Dear, 
To love me also in silence, with thy soul. 

E. B. JBruwning. 



CCCXXVI. 

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And be all to me? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing, and the common kiss 
That comes to each in tui-n, nor count it strange, 

When I look up, to drop on a now rano-c 
Of walls and floors, — another home than this? 
'Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is 
Fill'd by dead eyes too tender to know change? 

That's hardest! If to conquer love has tried, 
To conquer grief tries more, — as all things prove, 
For grief indeed is love and grief beside. 

Alas, I have grieved so T am hard to love ! 

Yet love me — wilt thou ? Open thine heart wide. 

And fold within the wet wings of thy dove. 

E. B. Browning. 



BOOK FIFTH. 381 



CCCXXVII. 



How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. 
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
My soul can i-each, when feeling out of sight 
For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. 

I love thee to the level of every day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. 
I love thee freel}-, as men strive for Eight ; 
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise; 

I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith ; 

I love thee with a love I seem'd to lose 

With my lost saints; I love thee with the breath, 
Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death. 

E. B. Browning. 



CCCXXVIII. 

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, 
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers 
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. 

It is the little rift within the lute. 

That by and by will make the music mute, 

And ever widening slowly silence all. 

The little rift within the lover's lute. 
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, 
That rotting inward slowly moulders all. 

It is not worth the keeping : let it go : 
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. 
And trust me not at all or all in all. 

A. Tennyson. 



382 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCCXXIX. 

PRIDE OF YOUTH. 

Even as a child, of sorrow that we give 
The dead, but little in his heart can find, 
Since without need of thought to his clear mind 
Their turn it is to die and his to live : — 

Even 80 the wing'd New Love smiles to receive 
Along his eddying plumes the auroral wind, 
Nor, forward glorying, casts one look behind 
Where night-rack shrouds the Old Love fugitive. 

There is a change in every hour's recall. 
And the last cowslip in the fields we see 
On the same day with the first corn-poppy. 

Alas for hourly change ! Alas for all 

The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall, 

Even as the beads of a told rosarj' ! 

D. G. Rossetti. 

CCCXXX. 

A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. 

Let's contend no more. Love, 

Strive nor weep, — 
All be as before, Love, 

— Only sleep ! 

What so wild as words are ? 

— I and thou 
In debate, as birds are, 

Hawk on bough ! 

See the creatures stalking 

While we speak, — 
Hush and hide the talking, 

Cheek on cheek ! 



BOOK FIFTH. 383 

What so false as truth is, 

False to thee ? 
Where the serpent's tooth is, 

Shun the tree, — 

Where the apple reddens 

Never pry, — 
Lest we lose our Edens, 

Eve and I ! 

Be a god and hold me 

With a charm, — 
Be a man and fold me 

With thine arm ! 

Teach me, only teach. Love! 

As I ought 
I w^ill speak thy speech, Love^ 

Think thy thought,— 

Meet, if thou require it, 

Both demands. 
Laying flesh and spirit 

In thy hands ! 

That shall be to morrow, 

Not to-night : 
I must bury sorrow 

Out of sight. 

— Must a little weep. Love, 

— Foolish me ! 
And so fall asleep, Love, 

Loved by thee. 

R. Browning. 



384 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCCXXXI. 
SOMEWHERE OR OTHER. 

Somewbcrc or other there must surely bo 
The face not seen, the voice not heard, 

The heart that not yet — never yet — ah nu- ! 
Made answer to my word. 

Somewhere or other, may be near or far ; 

Past land and sea, clean out of sight; 
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star 

That tracks her night by night. 

Somewhere or other, may be far or near; 

With just a wall, a hedge, between ; 
"With just the last leaves of the dying year 

Fallei; on a turf grown green. 

C. G. Rossetti. 



CCCXXXII. 
EVELYN HOPE. 

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! 

Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 

She pluck'd that piece of geranium-flower, 
Beginning to die too, in the glass. 

Little has yet been changed, I think, — 
The shutters are shut, no light may pass, 

Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. 

Sixteen years old when she died ! 

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name ; 
It was not her time to love : beside, 

Her life had many a hope and aim, 



BOOK FIFTH. 385 



Duties enough and little cares, 
And novv was quiet, now astir, — 

Till Grod's hand beckon'd unawares, 

And the sweet white brow is all of her. 



Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? 

What, your soul was pure and true. 
The good stars met in your horoscope, 

Made you of spirit, fire, and dew, — 
And just because I was thrice as old. 

And our paths in the world diverged so wide. 
Each was nought to each, must I be told ? 

We were fellow-mortals, nou<rht beside? 



No, indeed ! for Grod above 

Is great to grant, as mighty to make, 
And creates the love to reward the love, — 

I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! 
Delay'd it maj^ be for moi-e lives yet. 

Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few, — 
Much is to learn and much to forget 

Ere the time be come for taking you. 

But the time will come — at last it will — 

When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, 
In the lower earth, in the years long still. 

That body and soul so pure and gay? 
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, 

And your mouth of your own geranium's red. 
And what you would do with me, in fine. 

In the new life come in the old one's stead. 

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, 

Given up myself so many times, 
Gain'd me the gains of various men, 

Eansack'd the ages, spoil'd the climes ; 
25 



386 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, 

Eitber I miss'd or itself miss'd me, — 
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 

What is the issue? let us see! 

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ; 

My heart seem'd full as it could hold, — 
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, 

And the red young mouth* and the hair's young gold. 
So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to keep, — 

See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. 
There, that is our secret! go to sleep; 

You will wake, and remember, and understand. 

R. Browning. 

CCCXXXIII. 

MY KATE. 

She was not as pretty as women I know, 
And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow 
Drop to shade, melt to nought in the long-trodden ways. 
While she's still remcmber'd on warm and cold days — 

My Kate. 

Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace ; 
You turn'd from the fairest to gaze on her face ; 
And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, 
You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth — 

My Kate. 

Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, 
You look'd at her silence and fancied she spoke : 
When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone. 
Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone — 

My Kate. 

I doubt if she said to you much that could act 

As a thought or suggestion : she did not attract 

In the sense of the brilliant or wise : I infer 

'Twas her thinking of others, made you think of her — 

My Kate. 



BOOK FIFTH. 387 

She never found fault with you, never implied 
Your wrong by her right ; and 3'et men at her side 
Grew nobler, girls purer, as thi-ough the whole town 
The children were gladder that puU'd at her gown — 

My Kate. 

>Tone knelt at her feet confess'd lovers in thrall ; 
They knelt more to God than they used, — that was all : 
If^you praised her as charming, some ask'd what you meant, 
But the charm of her presence was felt when she went — 

My Kate. 

The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude. 
She took as she found them, and did them all good : 
It always was so with her — see what you have! 
She has made the grass greener even here — with her grave — 

My Kate. 

My dear one ! — when thou wast alive with the rest, 
I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best: 
And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part. 
As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart ? — 

My Kate. 
E. B. Bi'oicning. 

CCCXXXIV. 

ECHO. 

■ Come to me in the silence of the night ; 
Come in the sj^eaking silence of a di-eam ; 
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright 
As sunlight on a stream ; 
Come back in tears, 
O memory, hope, love of finish'd years. 

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet. 
Whose Avakening should have been in Paradise, 

Where souls brimful of love abide and meet; 
Where thirsting longing eyes 
Watch the slow door 

That opening, letting in, lets out no more. 



388 THE GOLD EX TREASURY. 

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live 
M}' very life again though cold in death : 
Come back to mc in dreams, that I may give 
Pidse for pulse, breath for breath : 
Speak low, lean low. 
As long ago, my love, how long ago ! 

C. G. Rossetti. 

cccxxxv. 
THE BLESSED DAMOZEL. 

The blessed damozel lean'd out 
From the gold bar of Heaven ; 

Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters still'd at even ; 

She had three lilies in her hand. 

And the stars in her hair were seven. 

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, 
No wrought flowers did adorn, 

But a white rose of Mary's gift, 
For service meetly worn ; 

Her hair that lay along her back 
Was yellow like ripe corn. 

Hei'seem'd she scarce had been a day 

One of God's choristers ; 
The wonder was not yet quite gone 

From that still look of hers ; 
Albeit, to them she left, her day 

Had counted as ten years. 

(To one, it is ten years of years. 

. . . Yet now, and in this place, 
Surely she lean'd o'er me — her hair 

Fell all about my face. . . . 
Nothing : the autumn fall of leaves. 

The whole 3'ear sets apace.) 



BOOK FIFTH. 389 

It was the rampart of God's bouse 

That she was standing on ; 
By God built over the sheer depth 

The which is Space begun ; 
So high, that looking downward thence 

She scarce could see the sun. 

It lies in Heaven, across the flood 

Of ether, as a bridge. 
Beneath, the tides of day and night 

With flame and darkness ridge 
The void, as low as where this earth 

Spins like a fretful midge. 

Around her, lovers, newly met 

'Mid deathless love's acclaims. 
Spoke ev^ermore among themselves 

Their heart-remember'd names; 
And the souls mounting up to God 

"Went by her like thin flames. 

And still she bow'd herself and stoop'd 

Out of the circling charm ; 
Until her bosom iiiust have made 

The bar she lean'd on warm. 
And the lilies lay as if asleep 

Along her bended arm. 

From the fix'd place of Heaven she saw 

Time like a pulse shake fierce 
Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove 

Within the gulf to pierce 
Its path ; and now she spoke as when 

The stars sang in their spheres. 

The sun was gone now ; the curl'd moon 

Was like a little feather 
Fluttering far down the gulf; and now 

She sjDoke through the still weather. 



390 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Her voice was like the voice the stars 
Had when they sang together. 

(Ah sweet ! Even now, in that bird's song, 
Strove not her accents there, 

Fain to be hcarken'd? When those bells 
Possess'd the mid-day air, 

Strove not her steps to reach my side 
Down all the echoing stair?) 

" I wish that he were come to me, 
For he will come," she said, 

" Have I not pray'd in Heaven ? — on earth. 
Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? 

Are not two prayers a perfect strength ? 
And shall I feel afraid ? 

" When round his head the aureole clings. 

And he is clothed in white, 
I'll take his hand and go with him 

To the deep wells of light ; 
As unto a stream we will step down, 

And bathe there in God's sight. 

" We two will stand beside that shrine, 

Occult, withheld, untrod. 
Whose lamps are stirr'd continually 

With prayer sent up to God ; 
And see our old prayers, granted, melt 

Each like a little cloud. 

" We two will lie i' the shadow of 

That living mystic tree 
Within whose secret growth the Dove 

Is sometimes felt to be. 
While ever}'' leaf that His plumes touch 

Saith His Name audibly. 



BOOK FIFTH. 391 

" And I mj'self will teach to him, 

I myself, lying so, 
The songs I silig here ; which his voice 

Shall pause in, hush'd and slow^, 
And find some knowledge at each pause, 

Or some new thing to know." 

(Alas ! We two, we two, thou say'st ! 

Yea, one wast thou with nie 
That once of old. But shall God lift 

To endless unity 
The soul whose likeness with thy soul 

"Was but its love for thee ?) 

" We two," she said, " will seek the groves 

Where the lady Mary is, 
With her five handmaidens, whose names 

Are five sweet symphonies, 
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, 

Margaret and Eosalys. 

" Circlewise sit they, with bound locks 

And foreheads garlanded ; 
Into the fine cloth white like flame 

Weaving the golden thread. 
To fashion the birth-robes for them 

Who arc just born, being dead. 

" He shall feai', hapl}', and be dumb : 

Then will I lay my check 
To his, and tell about our love, 

Not once abash 'd or weak; 
And the dear Mother will approve 

My pride, and let mo speak. 

" Herself shall bring us, hand in hand. 
To Him round whom all souls 



392 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Xneei, the clear-ranged unnumber'd beads 
Bow'd with their aureoles : 

And angels meeting us shall sing- 
To their citherns and citoles. 

" There will I ask of Christ the Lord 
Thus much for him and me : — 

Only to live as once on earth 
With Love, only to be, 

As then awhile, for ever now 
Together, 1 and he." 

She gazed and listen'd, and then said, 

Less sad of speech than mild, 
"All this is when he comes." She ceased. 

The light thrill'd towards her, fiU'd 
With angels in strong level flight. 

Her eyes prayed, and she smiled. 

(I saw her smile.) But soon their path 
Was vague in distant spheres: 

And then she cast her arms along 
The golden barriers, 

And laid her face between her hands, 
And wept. (I heard her tears.) 

D. G. Rossetti. 



CCCXXXVI. 

A DIRGE. 

Why were you born when the snow was falling? 
You should have come to the cuckoo's calling, 
Or when grapes are green in the cluster, 
Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster 

For their far-off flying 

From summer dying. 



BOOK FIFTH. 393 

Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? 
You should have died at the apples' dropping, 
When the grasshopper comes to trouble, 
And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, 

And all Avinds go sighing 

For sweet things dying. 

C. G. Rossetti. 



CCCXXXVII. 

Come not, when I am dead, 

To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, 
To trample round my fallen head, 

And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. 
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry ; 

But thou, go by. 

Child, if it were thine error or thy crime 

I care no longer, being all unblest : 
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, 

And I desire to rest. 
Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie : 

Go by, go by. 

A. Tennyson 



CCCXXXVIII. 

When I am dead, my dearest, 

Sing no sad songs for me ; 
Plant thou no roses at my head, 

Nor shady cypress-tree : 
Be the gi-een graf?8 above me 

With showers and dew-drops wet ; 
And if thou wilt, remember. 

And if thou wilt, forget. 



394 THE GOLDEN TREASURl'. 

I shall not see the shadows, 

I shall not feel the rain ; 
I shall not hear the nightingale 

Sing on, as if in pain : 
And dreaming through the twilight 

That doth not rise nor set, 
Haply I may remember, 

And haply may forget. 

C. G. Rossetti. 

CCCXXXIX. 

Home they brought her warrior dead : 
She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry : 

All her maidens, Avatching, said, 
" She must weep or she will die." 

Then they praised him, soft and low, 
Call'd him worthy to be loved. 

Truest friend and noblest foe ; 
Yet she nefther spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place. 
Lightly to the warrior stept. 

Took the face-cloth from the face ; 
Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

Rose a nurse of ninety years, 
Set his child upon her knee — 

Like summer tempest came her tears — 
" Sweet my child, I live for thee." 

A. Tennyson. 

CCCXL. 

Aii'ly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; 

Oh the pleasant sight to see 
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon, 

While my love climb'd up to me ! 



BOOK FIFTH. 395 

Airly Beacon. Airly Beacon ; 

Oh the happy hours we lay 
Dee}) in fei-n on Airly Beacon, 

Courting through the summer's day! 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; 

Oh the weaiy haunt for me, 
All alone on Airly Beacon, 

With his baby on my knee ! 

C. Kmgdey. 

CCCXLI. 

As through the land at eve we went, 

And pluck'd the ripen'd ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I, 
O we fell out I know not why, 

And kiss'd again with tears. 
And blessings on the falling out 

That all the more endears, 
When we fall out with those we love 

And kiss again with tears! 
For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years, 
There above the little grave, 
O there above the little grave, 

We kiss'd again with tears. 

A. Tennyson. 

CCCXLII. 
COMPARISONS. 

Child, when they say that others 

Have been or are like you, 
Babes fit to be your brothers, 

Sweet human drops of dew. 
Bright fruit of mortal mothers. 

What should one say or do ? 



396 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

We know the thought is treason, 
We feel the dream absurd ; 

A claim rebuked of reason, 
That withers at a word : 

For never shone the season 
That bore so blithe a bird. 



Some smiles may seem as merry, 
Some glances gleam as wise, 

From lips as like a cherry 
And scarce less gracious eyes. 

Eyes browner than a berry, 
Lips red as morning's rise. 



But never yet rang laughter 
So sweet in gladden'd ears 

Through wall and floor and rafter 
As all this household hears 

And rings response thereafter 
Till cloudiest weather clears. 



When those your chosen of all men, 

Whose honey never cloys, 
Two lights whose smiles enthrall men, 

Were call'd at your age boys, 
Those mighty men, Avhile small men, 

Could make no merrier noise. 



Our Shakespeare, surely, daff' d not 

More lightly pain aside 
From radiant lips that quaff'd not 

Of forethought's tragic tide : 
Our Dickens, doubtless, laugh'd not 

More loud with life's first pride. 



BOOK FIFTH. 397 

The dawn were not more cheerless 

Wilh neither light nor dew 
Than we without the iearless 

Clear laugh that thrills us through : 
If ever child stood peerless, 

Love knows that child is you. 

A. C Swinburne. 

CCCXLIII. 

A CHILD'S LAUGHTER. 

All the bells of heaven may ring, 
All the birds of heaven may sing, 
All the wells on eailh may spring, 
All the winds on earth may bring 

All sweet sounds together ; 
Sweeter far than all things heard. 
Hand of harper, tone of bird, 
Sound of Avoods at sundawn stirr'd, 
Welling water's winsome word. 

Wind in warm wan weather, 

One thing yet there is, that none 
Hearing ere its chime be done 
Knows not well the sweetest one 
Heard of man beneath the sun. 

Hoped in heaven hereafter; 
Soft and strong and loud and light, 
Very sound of very light 
Heard from morning's rosiest height, 
When the soul of all delight 

Fills a child's clear laughter. 

Golden bells of welcome roll'd 
Never forth such notes, nor told 
Hours so blithe in tones so bold. 
As the radiant mouth of gold, 
Here that rings forth heaven. 



398 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

If the golden-crested wren 
Were a nightingale — why, then 
Something seen and heard of men 
Might bo half as sweet as when 
Laughs a child of seven. 

A. C. Swinburne. 



CCCXLIV. 

TO A GYPSY CHILD BY THE SEA-SHORE, 

Douglas, Isle of Man. 

Who taught this pleading to unpractised ej-es? 

Who hid such import in an infant's gloom ? 
Who lent thee, child, this meditative guise ? 

Who mass'd round that slight brow these clouds of doom? 

Lo ! sails that gleam a moment and are gone ; 

The swinging waters, and the cluster' d pier. 
Not idly Earth and Ocean labor on, 

Nor idly do these sea-birds hover near. 

But thou, whom superfluity of jo}^ 

AYafts not from thine own thoughts, nor longings vain. 
Nor weariness, the full-fed soul's annoy — 

Eemaining in thy hunger and thy pain ; 

Thou, drugging pain by patience ; half averse 

From thine own mother's breast, that knows not thcc; 

With eyes which sought thine eyes thou didst converse. 
And that soul-searching vision fell on me. 

Glooms that go deep as thine I have not known : 

Moods of fantastic sadness, nothing worth. 
Thy sorrow and thy calmness are thine own : 

Glooms that enhance and glorify'- this earth. 



BOOK FIFTH. 399 

What mood wears like complexion to thy woe ? 

His, who in mountain glens, at noon of day, 
Sits rapt, and hears the buttle break below ? 

— Ah ! thine was not the shelter, but the fray. 

Some exile's, mindful how the past was glad ? 

Some angel's, in an alien planet born ? 
— ISTo exile's dream was ever half so sad, 

Nor any angel's sorrow so forlorn. 

Is the calm thine of stoic souls, who weigh 

Life well, and find it wanting, nor deplore, 
But in disdainful silence turn awa}'. 

Stand mute, self-centred, stern, and dream no more? 

Or do I wait, to hear some gray-hair'd king 

Unravel all his many-color'd lore ; 
Whose mind hath known all arts of governing, 

Mused much, loved life a little, loathed it more ? 

Down the pale cheek long lines of shadow slope, 

Which years, and curious thought, and suffering give. 

— Thou hast foreknown the vanity of hope, 
Foreseen thy harvest, yet proceed'st to live. 

meek anticipant of that sure pain 

Whose sureness gray-hair'd scholars hardly learn ! 
What wonder shall time breed, to swell thy strain ? 

What heavens, what earth, what suns shalt thou discern ? 

Ere the long night, whose stillness brooks no star, 
Match that funereal aspect with her pall, 

1 think, thou wilt have fathom'd life too far. 
Have known too much — or else forgotten all. 

The Guide of our dark steps a triple veil 

Betwixt our senses and our sorrow keeps ; 
Hath sown with cloudless passages the tale 

Of grief, and eased us with a thousand sleeps. 



400 '^'HE GOLDEN TREASURV. 

Ah ! not the nectarous poppy lovers use, 

Not daily labor's dull, Lethsean spring, 
Oblivion in lost angels can infuse 

Of the soil'd glory, and the trailing wing ; 

And though thou glean, what strenuous gleaners may, 
In the throng'd fields where winning comes by strife ; 

And though the just sun gild, as mortals pray. 
Some reaches of thy storra-vext stream of life ; 

Though that blank sunshine blind thee ; though the cloud 
That sever'd the world's march and thine bo gone ; 

Though ease dulls grace, and Wisdom be too proud 
To halve a lodging that was all her own — 

Once, ere thy day go down, thou shalt discern. 
Oh, once, ere night, in thy success, thy chain ! 

Ere the long evening close, thou shalt return. 
And wear this majesty of grief again. 

M. Arnold. 

CCCXLV. 

EIZPAH. 

17—. 

Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea — 
And Willy's voice in the wind, " O mother, come out to me." 
Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go ? 
For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at 
the snow. 

We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the town. 
The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the 

down, 
When I cannot see my own band, but am led by the creak of the 

chain. 
And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drench'd with 

the rain. 



BOOK FIFTH. 401 

Any thing fallen again ? nay — what was there left to fall ? 

I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden 

them all. 
What am I saying? and what are you ? do you come as a spy ? 
Falls ? what falls ? who knows ? As the tree falls so must it lie. 

Who let her in ? how long has she been ? you — what have you 

heard ? 
Why did you sit so quiet ? you never have spoken a word. 
O — to pray with me — yes — a lad}^ — none of their spies — 
But the night has crept into my heart, and begun to darken my 

eyes. 

Ah — you, that have lived so soft, what should you know of the 

night, 
The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the 

fright ? 
I have done it, while you were asleep — you were only made for 

the day. 
I have gather'd my baby together — and now you may go your 

way. 

Nay — for it's kind of you, madam, to sit by an old dying wife. 
But say nothing hard of ray bo^^, I have only an hour of life. 
I kiss'd my boy in the prison, before he went out to die. 
" They dared me to do it," he said, and he never has told me a lie. 
I whipt him for robbing an orchard once when he was but a 

child— 
"The farmer dared me to do it," he said ; he was always so wild — 
And idle — and couldn't be idle — my Willy — he never could rest. 
The King should have made him a soldier, he would have been 

one of his best. * 

But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and they never would let 

him be good ; 
They swore that he dai'e not rob the mail, and he swore that he 

would ; 
And he took no life, but he took one purse, and when all was done 
He flung it among his fellows — I'll none of it, said my son. 

26 



402 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

I came into court to the judge and the lawyers. I told them my 

tale, 
God's own truth — but they kill'd him, they kill'd him for robbing 

the mail. 
They hang'd him in chains for a show — we had always borne a 

good name — 
To be hang'd for a thief — and then put away — isn't that enough 

shame ? 
Dust to dust — low down — let us hide ! but the}' set him so high 
That all the ships of the world could stare at him, passing by. 
God'll pardon the hell-black raven and horrible fowls of the air. 
But not the black heart of the lawyer who kill'd him and hang'd 

him there. 

And the jailer forced me awa}^. I had bid him my last good-by ; 
They had fasten'd the door of his cell. " O mother !" I heard him 

cry. 
I couldn't get back though I tried ; he had something further to 

say, 
And now I shall never know it. The jailer forced me awaj'. 

Then since I couldn't but hear that cry of my boy that was dead, 
They seized me and shut me up : they fasten'd me down on my 

bed. 
" Mother, O mother !" — he call'd in the dark to me year after 

year — 
They beat me for that, they beat me — j-^ou know that I couldn't 

but hear ; 
And then at the last they found I had grown so stupid and still 
They let me abroad again — but the creatures had work'd their 

will. 

Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone Avas left — 

I stole them all from the lawyei's — and 3'ou, will you call it a 

theft ?— 
My baby, the bones that had suck'd me, the bones that had laugh'd 

and had cried — 
Theirs ? O no ! they are mine — not theirs — they had moved in 

my side. 



BOOK FIFTH 403 

Do you think I was scared by the bones ? I kiss'd 'em, I buried 

'em all — 
I can't dig deep, I am old — in the night by the churchyard wall. 
My Willy'll rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment 'ill sound, 
But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground. 

They would scratch him up — they would hang him again on the 

^ cursed tree. 
Sin? O yes — we are sinners, I know — let all that be, 
And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's good will toward men — 
" Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord" — let me hear it again ; 
" Full of compassion and merc}^ — long-suffering." Yes, O yes! 
For the lawyer is born but to murder — the Saviour lives but to 

bless. 
He'll never put on the black cap except for the worst of the 

worst, 
And the first may be last — I have heard it in church — and the 

last may be first. 
Suffering — O long-suffering — yes, as the Lord must know, 
Year after year in the mist and the wind and the shower and the 

snow. 

Heard, have you ? what? they have told you he never repented 

his sin. 
How do they know it! ai*e they his mother? are you of his kin? 
Heard ! have you ever heard, when the stoi'm on the downs began, 
The wind that'll wail like a child, and the sea that'll moan like a 

man? 

Election, Election and Eeprobation — it's all very well. 

But I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not find him in Hell. 

For I cared so much for my boj^ that the Lord has look'd into my 

care, 
And He means me, I'm sure, to be happy Avith Will}', I know not 

where. 

And if he be lost — but to save my soul, that is all your desire : 
Do you think that I care for my soul if my boy be gone to the fire ? 



404 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

I have been with God in the dai'k — go, go, you may leave me 

alone — 
You never have borne a child — you are just as hard as a stone. 

Madam, I beg 3'our pardon ! I think that you mean to be kind. 
But I cannot hear what you say for my Willy's voice in the wind — 
The snow and the sky so bright — he used but to call in the dark, 
And be calls to me now from the church and not from the gibbet — 

for hark ! 
Nay — you can hear it j'ourself — it is coming — shaking the walls — 
Willy — the moon's in a cloud Good-night. I am going. He 

calls. 

A. Tennyson. 

CCCXLVI. 

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 

You know, we French storm'd Eatisbon : 

A mile or so away, 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day ; 
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms lock'd behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, 
Let once my army-leader, Lannes, 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reach'd the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling ]oj, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy: 

You hardly could suspect — 



BOOK FIFTH. 



405 



(So tight he kept bis lips compress'd, 

iScarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw bis breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

" Well," cried be, " Emperor, by God's grace 

We've got you Eatisbon ! 
The Marshal's in the market-place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

AVhere I, to heart's desire, 
Perch'd him!" The Cbiet's eye flash'd; his plans 
. Soar'd up again like fire. 

The Chief's eye flash'd ; but presently 

Soften'd itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
" You're wounded !" " Nay," his soldier's pride 

Touch'd to the quick, he said : 
'' I'm kiU'd, Sire !" And, his Chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

R. Bro%vm7}g. 



CCCXLVII. 

"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT 

TO AIX." 

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 

I gallop'd, Dirck gallop'd, we gallop'd all three ; 

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; 

" Speed !" echoed the wall to us galloping through ; 

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 

And into the midnight we gallop'd abreast. 

Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place ; 



406 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

I turn'd in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
Then shorten'd each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chain'd slacker the bit, 
Nor gallop'd less steadily Roland a whit. 

'Twas moonset at starting ; but while we drew near 

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawn'd clear; 

At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 

At Diiffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; 

And from Mechcln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, 

So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is time!" 

At Aerschot, up leap'd of a sudden the sun, 
And against him the cattle stood black every one, 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past. 
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. 
With resolute shoulders, each butting awa}^ 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other prick'd out on his track ; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon 
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 

By Hasselt, Dirck groan'd ; and cried Joris, " Stay spur! 
Your Roos gallop'd bravely, the fault's not in her. 
We'll remember at Aix," — for one heard the quick wheeze 
Of her chest, saw the stretch'd neck and staggering knees. 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. 
As down on her haunches she shudder'd and sank. 

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 

The broad sun above laugh'd a pitiless laugh, 

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 

Till over by Dalhcm a dome-spire sprang white. 

And " Gallop," gasp'd Joris, " for Aix is in sight !" 



BOOK FIFTH. 407 

'•How they'll greet us!" — and all in a moment his roan 
RoU'd neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall. 

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 

Stood up in the stirrup, lean'd, patted his ear, 

Call'd my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; 

Clapp'd my hands, laugh'd and sang, any noise, bad or good, 

Till at length into Aix Roland gallop'd and stood. 

And all I remember is, friends flocking round 
As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground. 
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 
As T pour'd down his throat our last measure of wine, 
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. 

R. Browning. 

CCCXLVTII. 

ABOU BEN ADHEM. 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 
AAvoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom. 
An angel writing in a book of gold : — 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the presence in the room he said, 
" What writest thou?" — The vision raised its head. 
And with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answer'd, " The names of those who love the Lord." 
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "aSTay, not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then. 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 



408 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

The angel Avrote, and vanish'd. The next night 
It came again with a great wakening light, 
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd, 
x\nd lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 

J. L. Hunt. 

CCCXLIX. 

Say not, the struggle nought availeth, 
The labor and the wounds are vain, 

The enemy faints not, nor failcth. 

And as things have been they remain. 

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars ; 

It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd, 
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, 

And, but for you, possess the field. 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking. 
Seem here no painful inch to gain, 

Far back, through creeks and inlets making, 
Comes silent, flooding in, the main. 

And not by eastern windows ox\\y, 

When daylight comes, comes in the light ; 

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowh', 
But westward, look, the land is bright. 

A. H. Clough. 

CCCL. 

WISDOM UNAPPLIED. 

If I were thou, O butterfl}-, 

And poised my purple wings to spy 

The sweetest flowers that live and die, 

I would not waste my strength on those, 
As thou, — for summer hath a close, 
And pansies bloom not in the snows. 



BOOK FIFTH. 401) 

If I were tbou, O working bee, 
And all that honej^-gold I see 
Could delve from roses easilj^, 

I would not hive it at man's door, 
As thou, — that heii-dom of my store 
Should make him rich, and leave me poor. 

If I were thou, O Eagle proud, 

And scream'd the thunder back aloud, 

And faced the lightning from the cloud, 

I would not build my eyrie-throne, 
As thou, — upon a crumbling stone, 
Which the next storm may trample down. 

If I were thou, O gallant steed, 
With pawing hoof, and dancing head. 
And eye outrunning thine own speed 

I would not meeken to the rein, 

As thou, — nor smooth my nostril plain 

From the glad desert's snort and strain. 

If I were thou, red-breasted bird. 
With song at shut-up window heard, 
Like Love's sweet Yes too long deferr'd, 

I would not overstay delight, 

As thou, — but take a swallow-flight. 

Till the new spring return'd to sight. 

While yet I spake, a touch was laid 
Upon my brow, Avhose pride did fade 
As thus, methought, an angel said : 

" If I were thou who sing'st this song, 
Most wise for others, and most strong 
In seeing right while doing wrong. 



410 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

" I would not waste my cares and choose, 
As thou, — to seek what thou must lose, 
Such gains as perish in the use. 

"I would not work where none can win, 
As thou, — half way 'twixt grief and sin, 
But look above and judge within. 

" I would not let my pulse beat high. 
As thou, — towards fame's regality, 
Nor yet in love's great jeopardy. 

" I would not champ the hard cold bit, 
As thou, — of what the Avorld thinks fit, 
But take God's freedom using it. 

" I would not play earth's winter out, 
As thou; but gird my soul about. 
And live for life past death and doubt. 

"Then sing, O singer! — but allow 
Beast, fl}', and bird, call'd foolish now, 
Arc wise (for all thy scorn) as thou!" 

E. B. Browning. 



CCCLI. 

WORLDLY PLACE. 

Even in a palace life may he led well ! 

So spake the imperial sage, purest of men. 

Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den 

Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell, 

Our freedom for a little bread we sell. 
And drudge under some foolish master's ken 
Who rates us if we peer outside our pen — 
jVIatch'd with a palace, is not this a hell ? 



BOOK FIF'lH. 411 

Even in a palace! On bis truth sincere, 

Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came ; 

And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame 

Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, 

I'll stop, and say, " There were no succor bei'e ! 

The aids to noble life are all within." 

M. Arnold. 



CCCLII. 
RABBI BEN EZRA. 

Grow old along with me ! 

The best is yet to be, 
The last of life, for which the first was made : 

Our times are in His hand 
. Who saith, "A whole I plann'd. 
Youth shows but half; trust God : see all, nor be afraid !" 

Not that, amassing flowers, 

Youth sigh'd, " Which rose make ours. 
Which lily leave and then as best recall !" 

Not that, admiring stars, 

It yearn'd, " Nor Jove, nor Mai*s ; 
Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all !" 

Not for such hopes and fears 

Annulling youth's brief years, 
Do T remonstrate : folly wide the mark ! 

Rather I prize the doubt 

Low kinds exist without, 
Finish'd and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. 

Poor vaunt of life indeed. 
Were man but form'd to feed 
On joy, to solely seek and find and feast : 



412 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Such feasting ended, then 
As sure an end to men ; 
Irks care the crop-full bird ? Frets doubt the maw-cramm'd 
beast ? 

Rejoice we are allied 

To That which doth provide 
And not partake, effect and not receive ! 

A spark disturbs our clod ; "^ 

Nearer we hold of God 
Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. 

Then, welcome each rebuff 

That turns earth's smoothness rough. 
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go ! 

Be our joj's three-parts pain ! 

Strive, and hold cheap the strain ; 
Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never grudge the throe ! 

For thence — a paradox 

Which comforts while it mocks — 
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : 

What I aspired to be. 

And was not, comforts me : 
A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. 

What is he but a brute 

Whose flesh hath soul to suit, 
Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? 

To man, propose this test — 

Thy body at its best, 
How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? 

Yet gifts should prove their use ; 

I own the Past profuse 
Of power each side, perfection every turn : 

Ej'^es, ears took in their dole, 

Brain treasured up the whole ; 
Should not the heart beat once " How good to live and learn" ? 



BOOK FIFTH. 413 

Not once beat " Praise be Thine ! 

I see the whole design, 
I, who saw power, see now love perfect too : 

Perfect I call Thy plan : 

Thanks that I was a man ! 
Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what Thou shalt do !" 

For pleasant is this flesh ; 

Our soul, in its rose-mesh 
PuU'd ever to the earth, still yearns for rest : 

Would we some prize might hold 

To match those manifold 
Possessions of the bi'ute, — gain most, as we did best ! 

Let us not always say, 

" Spite of this flesh to-day 
I strove, made head, gain'd ground upon the whole !" 

As the bird wings and sings, 

Let us cry, "All good things 
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul !" 

Therefore I summon age 

To grant youth's heritage, 
Life's struggle having so far reaeh'd its term : 

Thence shall I pass, approved 

A man, for aye removed 
From the develop'd brute ; a God though in the germ. 

And I shall thereupon 

Take rest, ere I be gone 
Once more on my adventure brave and new : 

Fearless and unperplex'd, 

"When I wage battle next, 
What weapons to select, what armor to indue. 

Youth ended, I shall try 
My gain or loss thereby ; 
Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold : 



414 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

And I shall weigh the same, 
Give life its praise or blame : 
Young, all lay in dispute ; I shall know, being old. 

For note, when evening shuts, 

A certain moment cuts 
The deed off, calls the glory from the gray: 

A whisper from the west 

Shoots, '-Add this to the rest, 
Take it and try its w^orth : here dies another day." 

So, still within this life, 

Though lifted o'er its strife, 
Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, 

" This rage was right i' the main, 

That acquiescence vain : 
The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." 

For more is not reserved 

To man, with soul just nerved 
To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: 

Here, work enough to watch 

The Master work, and catch 
Hints of the j^roper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. 

As it was better, youth 

Should strive, through acts uncouth, 
Toward making, than repose on aught found made ; 

So, better, age, exempt 

From strife, should know, than tempt 
Further. Thou waitedst age : wait death nor be afraid ! 

Enough now, if the Eight 

And Good and Infinite 
Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own. 

With knowledge absolute, 

Subject to no dispute 
From fools that crowded j^outh, nor let thee feel alone. 



BOOK FIFTH. 415 

Be there, for once and all, 

Sever'd great minds from small, 
Announced to each his station in the Past! 

Was I, the world arraign'd, 

Were they, my soul disdain'd, 
Right ? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last ! 

Now who shall arbitrate? 

Ten men love what I hate. 
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; 

Ten who in ears and eyes 

Match me : we all surmise, 
They, this thing, and I, that : whom shall my soul believe ? 

Not on the vulgar mass 

Call'd " work," must sentence pass. 
Things done, that took the eye and had the price ; 

O'er which, from level stand, 

The low world laid its hand. 
Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: 

But all, the world's coarse thumb 

And finger fail'd to plumb. 
So pass'd in making up the main account : 

All instincts immature, 

All purposes unsure. 
That weigh'd not as his work, yet swell'd the man's amount: 

Thoughts hardly to be pack'd 

Into a narrow act. 
Fancies that broke thi'ough language and escaped : 

All I could never be. 

All, men ignored in me, 
This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 

Ay, note that Potter's wheel, 
That metaphor ! and feel 
Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — 



416 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Thou, to whom fools propound, 
When the wine makes its round, 
"Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!" 

Fool ! All that is, at all. 

Lasts ever, past recall ; 
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure : 

What entcr'd into thee, 

That was, is, and shall be : 
Time's wheel runs back or stops : Potter and clay endure. 

He fix'd thee 'mid this dance 

Of plastic circumstance, 
This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest : 

Machinery just meant 

To give thy soul its bent, 
Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impress'd. 

What though the earlier grooves 

Which ran the laughing loves 
Around thy base, no longer pause and press ? 

What though, about thy rim. 

Scull-things in order grim 
Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress ? 

Look not thou down but up ! 
To uses of a cup. 
The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, 
, The new wine's foaming flow. 
The Mastei"'s lips aglow ! 
Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's 
wheel ? 



But I need, now as then. 
Thee, God, who mouldest men ! 
And since, not even while the whirl was worst, 



BOOK FIFTH. 417 

Did I — to the wheel of life, 
With sluipes and colors rife, 
Bound dizzily — mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst: 



So, take and use Thy work. 

Amend what flaws may lurk. 
What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim ! 

My times be in Thy hand ! 

Perfect the cup as plann'd ! 
Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same ! 

B. Browning. 



CCCLIir. 
TO AGE. 

Welcome, old friend! These many j^ears 
Have we lived door by door : 

The Fates have laid aside their shears 
Perhaps for some few more. 

I was indocile at an age 

When better boys were taught, 

But thou at length hast made me sage, 
If I am sage in aught. 

Little I know from other men, 

Too little they from me, 
But thou hast pointed well the pen 

That writes these lines to thee. 

Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope, 

One vile, the other vain ; 
One's scourge, the other's telescope, 

I shall not see again : 
27 



413 THE GOLDEN TREASCRV 

Rather what lies before my feet 

My notice shall engage. 
He who hath braved Youth's dizzy heat 

Dreads not the frost of Age. 

W. S. Landor. 



CCCLIV. 

Is it not better at an early hour 

In its calm cell to rest the weary head, 
While birds are singing and while blooms the bower, 

Than sit the fire out and go starved to bed? 

W. S. Landoi\ 



CCCLV. 

UP-HILL. 

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 

Yes, to the very end. 
"Will the day's journey take the whole long day ? 

From morn to night, my friend. 

But is there for the night a resting-place? 

A roof for when the slow dark hours beg-in. 
May not the darkness hide it from my face? 

You cannot miss that inn. 

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? 

Those who have gone before. 
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 

They will not keep you standing at that door. 

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? 

Of labor j-ou shall find the sum. 
Will there be beds for me and all who seek? 

Yea, beds for all who come. 

. C. Q. Rossetti. 



BOOK FIFTH. 419 



CCCLVI. 



Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill ! 
Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 

No light had we : for that we do repent ; 
And learning this the bridegroom will relent. 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 

JSTo light: so late! and dark and chill the night ! 
O let us in, that we may find the light ! 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 

Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet ? 

let us in, though late, to kiss his feet ! 
No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 

A. Tennyson. 

CCCLVII. 

LOST DAYS. 

The lost days of my life until to-day. 
What were they, could I see them on the street 
Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat 
Sown once for food but trodden into clay ? 

Or golden coins squander'd and still to pay? 
Or droi)S of blood dabbling the guilty feet ? 
Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat 
The undying throats of Hell, athirst alway? 

1 do not see them here ; but after death 
God knows I know the faces I shall see, 
Each one a murder'd self, with low last breath. 

" I am thyself, — what hast thou done to me ?" 
"And I — and I — thyself," (lo! each one saith.) 
"And thou thyself to all eternity!" 

D. G. Rossetti. 



420 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCCLVIII. 

THE PKOSPECT. 

Methinks we do as fretful children do, 

Leaning their faces on the window-pane 

To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, 

And shut the sky and landscape from their view. 

And thus, alas ! since God the maker drew 
A mystic separation 'twixt those twain, 
The life beyond us and our souls in pain, 
We miss the prospect which we're call'd unto 

By grief we're fools to use. Be still and strong, 

O man, my brother ! hold thy sobbing breath, 

And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong,- 

That so, as life's appointment issueth. 
Thy vision may be clear to watch along 
The sunset consummation-lights of death. 

E. B. Browning. 

CCCLIX. 

PROSPICE. 

Fear death ? — to feel the fog in my throat. 

The mist in my face, 
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote 

I am nearing the place. 
The power of the night, the press of the storm, 

The post of the foe ; 
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, 

Yet the strong man must go : 
For the journey is done and the summit attain'd, 

And the barriers fall. 
Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gain'd, 

The reward of it all. 



BOOK FIFTH. 421 

I was ever a fighter, so, — one fight more. 

The best and the last ! 
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, 

And bade me creep past. 
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, 

The heroes of old, 
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears, 

Of pain, darkness, and cold. 
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, 

The black minute's at end, 
And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, 

Shall dwindle, shall blend. 
Shall change, shall become first a peace, then a joy, 

Then a light, then thy breast, 
O thou soul of my soul! I. shall clasp thee again, 

And with God be the rest ! 

R. Bj'owning. 

CCCLX. 

NIGHT AND DEATH. 

Mysterious Night! when our first Parent knew 
Thee, from report divine, and heard thy name, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely Frame, 
This glorious canopy of Light and Blue ? 

Yet 'neath a curtain of ti-anslucent dew. 
Bathed in the rays of the great setting Flame, 
Hesperus with the Host of Heaven came, 
And lo ! Creation widen'd in Man's view. 

"Who could have thought such Darkness lay conceal'd 
Within thy beams, O Sun ! or who could find. 
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood reveal'd, 
That to such countless Orbs thou mad'st us blind ! 

Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife ? 
If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life ? 

J. B. White. 



422 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

CCCLXI. 

IN A LECTURE-ROOM. 

Away, haunt thou not me, 

Thou vain Philosophy ! 

Little hast thou bestead, 

Save to perplex the head, 

And leave the spirit dead. 

Unto thy broken cisterns wherefore go. 

While from the secret treasure-depths below, 

Fed by the skiey shower, 

And clouds that sink and rest on hill-tops high. 

Wisdom at once, and Power. 

Are welling, bubbling forth, unseen, incessantly? 

Why labor at the dull mechanic oar, 

When the fresh breeze is blowing, 

And the strong current flowing, 

Right onward to the Eternal shore ? 

A H. Clough. 



CCCLXII. 

O diviner Air, 

Through the heat, the drowth, the dust, the glare, 

Far from out the west in shadowing showers, 

Over all the meadow baked and bare, 

Making fresh and fair 

All the bowers and the flowers, 

Fainting flowers, faded bowers, 

Over all this weary world of ours, 

Breathe, diviner Air ! 

O diviner Light, 

Through the cloud that roofs our noon with night, 
Through the blotting mist, the blinding showers. 
Far from out a sky for ever bright. 



BOOK FIFTH. 423 

Over all tbe woodland's flooded bowers, 
Over all the meadow's drowning flowers, 
Over all this ruin'd world of ours, 
Break, diviner Light! 

A. Tennyson. 



CCCLXIII. 

Eing out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light ; 
The year is dj'ing in the night : 

Eing out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Eing out tbe old, ring in the new, 
Eing, happy bells, across the snow : 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Eing out the false, ring in the true. 

Eing out the grief that saps the mind. 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Eing out the feud of rich and poor, 

Einec in redress to all mankind. 

Eing out a slowly dying cause. 
And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Eing in the nobler modes of life. 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Eing out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times; 
Eing out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Eing out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite ; 
Eing in the love of truth and light, 

Eing in the common love of good. 



424 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease ; 

Ring out the navi'owing lust of gold ; 

Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land. 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

A. Teimyson. 



I^ O T E S. 



» Summary of Book First. 

The Elizabethan Poetry, as it is rather vaguely termed, forms the substance of this 
Book, which contains pieces from Wyat, under Henry VIII., to Shakespeare, midway 
through the reign of James I., and Drummond, who carried on the early manner to a 
still later period. There is here a wide range of style; — from simplicity expressed in 
a language hardly yet broken in to verse, — through the pastoral fancies and Italian 
conceits of the strictly Elizabethan time, — to the passionate reality of Shakespeare: 
yet a general uniformity of tone prevails. Few readers can fail to observe the natural 
sweetness of the verse, the single-hearted straightforwardness of the thoughts: — nor 
less, the limitation of subject to the many phases of one passion, which then character- 
ized our lyrical poetry, — unless when, as with Drummond and Shakespeare, the "purple 
light of Love'' is tempered by a spirit of sterner reflection. 

It should be observed that this and the following Summaries apj)ly in the main to the 
Collection here presented, in which (besides its restriction to Lyrical Poetry) a strictly 
representative or historical Anthology has not been aimed at. Great excellence, in 
human art as in human character, has from the beginning of things been even more 
uniform than mediocrity, by virtue of the closeness of its approach to Nature: — and so 
far as the standard of excellence kept in view has been attained in this volume, a com- 
parative absence of extreme or temporary phases in style, a similarity of tone and 
manner, will be found throughout : — something neither modern nor ancient, but true in 
all ages, and, like the works of Creation, perfect as on the first day. 

PAGE NO. 

1 II. House Memnon's mother: Awaken the Dawn from the dark Earth and the 

clouds where she is resting. Aurora in the old mythology is mother of 
Memnon (the East), and wife of Tithonus (the appearances of Earth and 
Sky during the last hours of Night). She leaves him every morning in 
renewed youth, to prepare the way for Phoebus (the Sun), whilst Tithonus 
remains in |ierpetual old age and grayness. 

2 — 1. 22, hy Piu'us' streams : Phoebus loved the Nymph Daphne whom he met 

by the river Peneus in the vale of Tempo. This legend expressed the 
attachment of the Laurel (Daphne) to the Sun, under whose heat the tree 
both fades and flourishes. 

It has been thought worth while to explain these allusions, because they 
illustrate the character of the Grecian Mythology, which arose in the 
personification of natural phenomena, and was totally free from those 
debasing and ludicrous ideas with which, through Pioman and later mis- 
understanding or perversion, it has been associated. 

425 



42G NOTES. 

PAfiE NO. 

2 II. 1. 26, Antphion's lyre: He was said to have built the walls of Thebes to 

the sound of his music. L. 34, Night like a drunkard reels : Compare 
Romeo and Juliet, Act II. Scene 3, '• The gray-eyed morn smiles," etc. 
It should be added that three lines, which appeared hopelessly mis- 
printed, have been omitted in this poem. 

4 IV. Time's chest: in which he is figuratively supposed to lay up past treas- 

ures. So in Troilus, Act III. Scene 3, '• Time hath a wallet at his back," 
etc. 

4 V. A fine example of the high-wrought and conventional Elizabethan Piis- 

toralism, which it would be ludicrous to criticise on the ground of the 
unshepherdlike or unreal character of some images suggested. Stanza t> 
was probably inserted by Izaak Walton. 

7 IX. This poem, with xxv. and xciv., is taken from Davison's "Rhapsody," 

first published in 1602. One stanza has been here omitted, in accordance 
with the principle noticed in the Preface. Similar omissions occur in 
XLV., Lxxxvn., c, cxxviii., CLX., CLXV., ccxxvii., ccxxxv. The more 
serious abbreviation by which it has been attempted to bring Crashaw's 
" Wishes" and Shelley's " Euganean Hills" within the limits of lyrical 
unity, is commended with much diffidence to the judgment of readers 
acquainted with the original pieces. 

Presence in line 12 is here conjccturally printed for present. A very few 
similar corrections of (it is presumed) misprints have been made, as thy 
for mi/, XXII., 9; men for me, XLi., 3; viol for idol, CCLII., 43, and one for 
our, 90 ; locks for look^, cclxxi., 5 ; dome for doom, ccLXXV., 25 ; with 
two or three more less important. 

10 XV. This charming little poem, truly "old and plain, and dallying with the 

innocence of love" like that spoken of in Twelfth Night, is taken, with v., 
XVII., XX., xxxiv., and xi.., fioin the most characteristic collection of 
Elizabeth's reign, " England's Helicon," first published in 1600. 

11 XVI. Readers who have visited Italy will be reminded of more than one picture 

by this gorgeous vision of Beauty, equally sublime and pure in its. Para- 
disaical naturalness. Lodge wrote it on a voyage to '• the Islands of 
Terceras and the Canaries;" and he seems to have caught, in those 
southern seas, no small portion of the qualities which marked the almost 
contemporary art of Venice, — the glory and the glow of Veronese, or 
Titian, or Tintoret, when he most resembles Titian and all but surpasses 
him. 

The clear (1. 1) is the crystalline or outermost heaven of the old cosmog- 
raphy. For renemhling (1. 7) other copies give refining : the correct read- 
ing is perhaps rerealing. For a fair there's fairer none: If you desire a 
Beauty, there is none more beautiful than Rosaline. 

13 XVIII. that fair thou owesi : that beauty tliou owncst. 

17 XXIII. the star Whose worth's unknown, although his height he taken: apparently. 

Whose stellar influence is unealculated, although his angular altitude 
from the plane of the astrolabe or artificial horizon used by astrologers 
has been determined. 

19 XXVlI. keel: skim. 



NOTES. 



427 



PAGE NO. 

20 XXIX. expense: waste. 

— XXX. Nativity once in the main of lirjht : when a star has risen and entered on 

^ the full stream of light; — another of the astrological phrases no longer 
familiar. Crnolced eclipses : as coming athwart the Sun's apparent course. 
Wordsworth, thinking probably of the " Venus" and the " Lucrece," said 
finely of Shakspeare, " Shaks[)eare could not have written an Epic; he 
would have died of plethora of thought." This prodigality of nature is 
exemplified equally in his Sonnets. The copious selection here given 
(which, from the wealth of the material, required greater consideration 
than any other portion of the Editor's task) contains many that will not 
be fully felt and understood without some earnestness of thought on the 
reader's part. But he is not likely to regret the labor. 

21 XXXI. iipon viispi-ision ffroicing : either, granted in error, or, on the growth of 

contempt. 

— XXXII. Witli the tone of this Sonnet compare Hamlet's " Give me that man That 

is not passion's slave,'' etc. SiiaUe.-^peare's writings show the deepest sen- 
sitiveness to passion ; hence the attraction he felt in the contrasting effects 
of apathy. 

22 XXXIII. grcune : sorrow. It was long before English Poetry returned to the 

charming simplicity of this and a few other poems by Wyat. 

23 XXXIV. Pandion in the ancient fable was father to Philomela. 

25 XXXVIII. ramage : confused noise. 

26 XXXIX. censures: judges. 

26 XL. By its style this beautiful example of old simplicity and feeling may be 

referred to the early years of Elizabeth. Late forgot : lately. 

28 XLi. hayfjnrds : the least tameable hawks. 

29 XLIV. cypres or Cyprus, — used by the old writers ior crape ; whether from the 

French crespe or from the island whence it was imported. Its accidental 
similarity in spelling to cypress has, here and in Milton's Penseroso, 
probably confused readers. 
31 XLVi., XLVii. "I never saw anything like this funeral dirge," says Charles Lamb, 
"except the ditty which reminds Ferdinand of his drowned father in the 
Tempest. As that is of the wnter, watery ; so this is of the earth, earthy. 
Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into 
the element which it contemplates. " 

33 LI. crystal: fairness. 

34 Liii. This " Spousal Verse" was written in honor of the Ladies Elizabeth and 

Katherine Somerset. Although beautiful, it is inferior to the "Epithala- 
mion" on Spenser's own marriage, — omitted with great reluctance as not 
in harmony with modern manners. 

35 — \. ]7, feateoitsfy : elegantly. 

38 — 1. 5, alien d : put out. L. 29, a noble peer : Robert Devereu.^, second Lord 

Essex, then at the height of his brief triumph after taking Cadiz: hence 
the allusion following to the Pillars of Hercules, placed near Gades by 
ancient legend. 

39 — I. 5, Eliza: Elizabeth. L. 21, twins of Jove : the stars Castor and Pollux; 

baldric, belt; the zodiac. 



428 NOTES. 

PAGE NO. 

41 LVii. A fine example of a peculiar class of Poetry : — that written by thoughtful 
men who practised this art but little. Wotton's, lxxii., is another. 
Jeremy Taylor, Bishop Berkeley, Dr. Johnson, Lord Macaulay, have left 
similar specimens. 

SnminarTf of Book Second. 
This division, embracing the latter eighty years of the seventeenth century, contains 
the close of our Early poetical style and the commencement of the Modern. In Dryden 
we see the first master of the new: in Milton, whose genius dominates here as Shake- 
speare's in the former book, the crown and consummation of the early period. Their 
splendid Odes are far in advance of any prior attempts, Spenser's excepted : they ex- 
hibit a wider and grander range which years and experience and the struggles of the 
time conferred on Poetry. Our Muses now give expression to political feeling, to re- 
ligious thought, to a high philoso|)hic statesmanship, in writers such as Marvell, Her- 
bert, and Wotton ; whilst in Marvell and Milton, again, we find the first noble attempts 
at pure description of nature, destined in our own ages to be continued and equalled. 
Meanwhile, the poetry of simple passion, although before 1660 often deformed by verbal 
fancies and conceits of thought, and afterward by levity and an artificial tone, produced 
in Herrick and Waller some charming pieces of more finished art than the Elizabethan : 
until in the courtly compliments of Sedley it seems to exhaust itself, and lie almost 
dormant for the hundred years between the days of Wither and Suckling and the days 
of Burns and Cowper, — That the change from our early style to the modern brought 
with it at first a loss of nature and simplicity is undeniable; yet the far bolder and 
wider scope which Poetry took between 1620 and 1700, and the successful efforts then 
made to gain greater clearness in expression, in their results have been no slight com- 
pensation. 

PAGE NO. 

47 LXII. 1. 12, whist : hushed. 

48 — 1. 3, Pan : used here for the Lord of all. 

51 — 1. 3, Lara and Lemnres : household gods and spirits of relations dead. 

Flamens (1. 6) : Roman priests. That twice-baiter'd god (1. 11) : Dagon. 
L. 25, Osiris, the Egyptian god of Agriculture (here, perhaps by confusion 
with Apis, figured as a Bull), was torn to pieces by Typho and embalmed 
after death in a sacred chest. This myth, reproduced in Syria and Greece 
in the legends of Thammuz, Adonis, and perhaps Absyrtus, represents 
the annual death of the Sun or the Year under the influences of the winter 
darkness. Horus, the son of Osiris, as the New Year, in his turn over- 
comes Typho. — It suited the genius of Milton's time to regard this prime- 
val poetry and philosophy of the seasons, which has a further reference 
to the contest of Good and Evil in Creation, as a malignant idolatry. 
Shelley's Chorus in Hellas, " Worlds on worlds," treats the subject in a 
larger and sweeter spirit. L. 27, unshower'd grass : as watered by the Nile 
only. 

54 LXIV. The late Massacre : the Vaudois persecution, carried on in 1655 by the 
Duke of Savoy. This "collect in verse," as it has been justly named, is 
the most mighty Sonnet in any language known to the Editor. Readers 
should observe that, unlike our sonnets of the sixteenth century, it is con- 



AOTES. 429 

PAGE NO. 

structed on the original Italian or Provenjal model, — unquestionably far 
superior to the imperfect form employed by Shakespeare and Drum- 
mond. 

55 Lxv. Cromwell returned from Ireland in 1650. Hence the prophecies, not 
strictly fulfilled, of his deference to the Parliament, in stanzas 21-24, 
This Ode, beyond doubt one of the finest in our language, and more in 
Milton's style than has been reached by any other poet, is occasionally 
obscure from imitation of the condensed Latin syntax. The meaning of 
stanza 5 is, " rivalry or hostility are the same to a lofty spirit, and liraita- 
» tion more hateful than opposition." The allusion in stanza 11 is to the old 

physical doctrines of the non-existence of a vacuum and the impenetra- 
bility of matter : — in stanza 17, to the omen traditionally connected with 
the foundation of the Capitol at Rome. The ancient belief that certain 
years in life complete natural periods and are hence peculiarly exposed 
to death, is introduced in stanza 26 by the word climacteric, 
Lycixlas. The person lamented is Milton's college friend Edward King, 
drowned in 1637 whilst crossing from Chester to Ireland. 
Strict Pastoral Poetry was first written or perfected by the Dorian Greeks 
settled in Sicily ; but the conventional use of it, exhibited more magnifi- 
cently in Lycidas than in any other pastoral, is apparently of Roman 
origin. Milton, employing the noble freedom of a great artist, has here 
united ancient mythology, with what may be called the modern mythology 
of Camus and Saint Peter, — to direct Christian images. — The metrical 
structure of this glorious poem is partly derived from It:ilian models. 

69 LXVT. 1. 15, Sisters of the sacred well: the Muses, said to frequent the fountain 
Helicon on Mount Parnassus. 

60 — 1. 30, Mona : Anglesea, called by the AVelsh Inis Dowil or the Dark Island 

from its dense forests. Deva (1. 31), the Dee: a river which probably 
derived its magical character from Celtic traditions: it was long the 
boundary of Briton and Saxon. — These places are introduced, as being 
near the scene of the shipwreck. Orjjheus (1. 34) was torn to pieces by 
Thracian women. 

61 — Amaryllis and Nexra (1. 9, 10), names used here for the love-idols of 

poets: as Z)nHioe<ffs previously for a shepherd. L. \%, the blind Fury : 
Atropos, fabled to cut the thread of life. Arethnse (1. 26) and Mincius : 
Sicilian and Italian waters here alluded to as synonymous with the pas- 
toral poetry of Theocritus and Virgil. L. 29, oat: pipe, used here like 
Collins's oaten stop, 1. 1, No. CXLVI., for Song. 

62 — 1. 1, Hippotades : ^olus, god of the Winds. Panope (1. 4), a Nereid. 

The names of local deities in the Hellenic mj'thology express generally 
some feature in the natural landscape, which the Greeks stu<lied and ana- 
lyzed with their usual unequalled insight and feeling. Panope repre- 
sents the boundlessness of the ocean-horizon when seen from a height, as 
compared with the limited horizon of the land in hilly countries such as 
Greece or Asia Minor. Camus (1. 8), the Cam : put for King's University. 
The sanguine Jlotcer (I. 11), the Hyacinth of the ancients ; probably our 
Iris. The pilot (1. 14), Saint Peter, figuratively introduced as the head 



430 



NOTES. 



63 Lxvi. 



64 — 
66 Lxx. 



67 — 



69 Lxxiii. 

70 LXXV. 



71 LXXVI. 
LXXVII. 



7A LXXIX. 



78 Lxxxiv, 



of the Church on earth, to foretell " the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then 
in their heighth" under Laud's primacy. L. 33, the icalf : Popery. 
Alpheua (1. 1), a stream in Southern Greece, supposed to flow underseas to 
join the Arethuse. Swart star (1. 7), the Dogstar, called swarthy because 
its heliacal rising in ancient times occurred soon after midsummer. L. 
28, moist vows : either tearful prayers, or prayers for one at sea. Bellerus 
(1. 29), a giant, apparently created here by Milton to personify Bellerium, 
the ancient title of the Land's End. The great Vision : — the story was 
that the Archangel Michael had appeared on the rock by Marazion in 
Mount's Bay which bears his name. Milton calls on him to turn his eyes 
from thesouth homeward, and to pity Lycidas, if his body has drifted into 
the troubled waters off the Land's End. Finisterre being the land due 
south of Marazion, two places in that district (then by our trade with Co- 
runna probably less unfamiliar to English ears) are named, — Xa/iiancos 
now Mujio in Galicia, Bayona north of the Minho, or perhaps a fortified 
rock (one of the Cies IsLands) not unlike Saint Michael's Mount, at the 
entrance of Vigo Bay. 

1. 2, ore: rays of golden light. Boric lay (1. 21), Sicilian, pastoral. 
The assault was an attack on London expected in 1642, when the troops 
of Charles I. reached Brentford. " AVritten on his door" was in the 
original title of this sonnet. Milton was then living in Aldersgate Street. 
1. 6, The Emathian conqueror: When Thebes was destroj'ed (b.c. 335) 
and the citizens massacred by thousands, Alexander ordered the house of 
Pindar to be spared. He was as incapable of appreciating the Poet as 
Louis XIV. of appreciating llacine : but even the narrow and barbar.ian 
mind of Alexander could understand the advantage of a showy act of 
homage to Poetry. L. 8, the repeated air 0/ sad Electra's j)oct : Amongst 
Plutarch's vague stories, he says that when the Spartan confederacy in 404 
B.C. took Athens, a proposal to demolish it was rejected through the effect 
produced on the commanders by hearing part of a chorus from the Eiectra 
of Euripides sung at a feast. There is, however, no apparent congruity be- 
tween the lines quoted (167, 8, Ed. Dindorf) and the result ascribed to them. 
This high-toned and lovely Madrigal is quite in the style, and worthy, of 
the "pure Simonides." 

Vaughan's beautiful though quaint verses should be compared with 
Wordsworth's great Ode, No. cclxxxvii. 
Favonius : the spring wind. 

Themis : the goddess of justice. Skinner was grandson by his mother to 
Sir E. Coke : — hence, as pointed out by Mr. Keightley, Milton's allusion 
to the bench. 

\. 4, Sweden was then at war with Poland, and France with the Spanish 
Netherlands. 

1. 4, Sydneian showers: either in allusion to the conversations in the 
" Arcadia," or to Sidney himself as a model of "gentleness" in sjiirit and 
demeanor. 

Elizabeth of Bohemia : Daughter to James I., and ancestor to Sophia of 
Hanover. These lines are a fine specimen of gallant and courtly compliment. 



NOTES. 



431 



PAGE NO. 

79 Lxxxr. Lady M. Ley was daughter to Sir J. Ley, afterwards Earl of Marlborough, 
who died March, 1628-9, coincidently with the dissolution of the third 
Parliament of Charles's reign. Hence Milton poetically compares his 
death to that of the orator Isocrates of Athens, after Philip's victory in 
328 B.C. 

84 xcii., xciii. These are quite a Painter's poems, 

88 xcix. From. Prison : to which his active support of Charles I. twice brought the 

high-spirited writer. 

'Xi cv. Inserted in Book II. as written in the character of a soldier of fortune 

> in the seventeenth century. 

94 cvi. Wnbj wall/ : an exclamation of sorrow, the root and the pronunciation of 

which are preserved in the word caterwaid. Brae, hill-side; burn, brook; 
blink, adorn. Saint Anton's Well: at the foot of Arthur's Seat by Edin- 
burgh. 

1. 4, craiiiasie, crimson. 
burd, maiden. 

corbies, erovfs; fail, turf; hause, neck; theeh, thatch. If not in their 
origin, in their present form this and the two preceding poems appear due 
to the seventeenth century, and have therefore been placed in Book II. 
The remark quoted in the note to No. xlvii. applies equally to these 
truly wonderful verses, which, like " Lycidas," may be regarded as a test 
of any reader's insight into the most poetical aspects of Poetrj'. The 
general differences between them are vast; but in imaginative intensity 
Marvell and Shelley are closely related. This poem is printed as a trans- 
lation in Marvell's works ; but the original Latin is obviously his own. 
The most striking verses in it — here quoted, as the book is rare — answer 
more or less to stanzas 2 and 6 : 

Alma Quies, teneo te ! et te, germana Quietis, 
Simplicitas ! vos ergo diu per templa, per urbes 
Qusesivi, regum perque alta palatia, frustra : 
Sed vos hortorum per opaca silentia, longe 
Celarunt plantse viiides, et concolor umbra. 
L'Alli'rjro and II Penseroso. It is a striking proof of Milton's astonishing 
power, that thes"^, the earliest pure Descriptive Lyrics in our language, 
should still remain the best in a style which so many great poets have 
since attempted. The Bright and the Thoughtful aspects of Nature are 
their subjects; but each is preceded by a mythological introduction in a 
mixed Classical and Italian manner. The meaning of the first is that 
Gayety is the child of Nature; of the second, that Pensiveness is the 
daughter of Sorrow and Genius. 

1. 2, Perverse ingenuity has conjectured that for Cerberus we should read 
Erebus, who in the Mythology is brother at once and husband of Night. 
But the issue of that union is not Sadness, but Day and ^Ether: — com- 
pleting the circle of primary Creation, as the parents are both children 
of Chaos, the first-begotten of all things. (Hesiod.) 
1. 18, the mountain ni/mph : compare Wordsworth's Sonnet, No. ccx. 
1. 6 is in apposition to the preceding, by a grammatical license not uncom- 



432 



NOTES. 



104 — 



105 — 



106 



107 — 



108 — 



110 cxiv. 



Ill 



— CXT. 



mon with Milton. L. II, telle his tale : counts his flock. Cynosure (1. 24), 
the Pole Star. Gorydoit, T/iyisis, etc. : shepherd names frotu the old Idylls. 
1. 38, .Johvoh's learned sock: the gayety of our age would find little 
pleasure in his elaborate comedies. 

1. i, Lydian airs: a light and festive style of ancient music. 
1. 3, bestead : avail. 

1. 7, starr'd Eihiiq) queen : Cassiopeia, the legendary Queen of Ethiopia, 
and thence translated amongst the constellations. 

1. 'J, Cynthia : the Moon : her chariot is drawn by dragons in ancient 
representations. L. 38, Hermes, called Trismegistus, a mystical writer ot 
the Neo-Pliitonist school. 

1. 11, Thebes, etc.: subjects of Athenian Tragedy. Bnshin'd (1. 14), 
tragic. L. 10, Miisseus : a poet in Mythology. L. 21, him that left half 
told: Chaucer, in his incomplete "Squire's Talc." L. 28, f/reat bards: 
Ariosto, Ta.^so, and Spenser are here intended. L. Zb, frounced : curled. 
y^e y1»i"c fi'.?/ (I. 36), Cephalus. 

Emigrants supposed to be driven towards America by the government of 
Charles I. 

1. 3, 4, But apples, etc. A fine example of Marvell's imaginative hyper- 
bole. 
1. 0, concent : harmony. 



Summary of Book Third. 

It is more difiicult to characterize the English Poetry of the eighteenth century than 
that of any other. For it was an age not only of spontaneous transition, but of bold 
experiment : it includes not only such divergences of thought as distinguish the " Rape 
of the Lock" from the " Parish Register," but such vast contemporaneous differences 
as lie between Pope and Collins, Piurns and Cowper. Yet we may clearly trace three 
leading moods or tendencies: — the aspects of courtly or educated life represented by 
Pope and carried to exhaustion by his followers; the poetry of Nature and of Man, 
viewed through a cultivated and at the same time an impassioned frame of mind by 
Collins and Gray ; lastly, the study of vivid and simple narrative, including natural 
description, bogun by Gay and Thomson, pursued by Burns and others in the north, 
and established in Englnnd by Goldsmith, Percy, Crabbe, and Cowper. Great varieties 
in style accompanied these diversities in aim : poets could not always distinguish the 
manner suitable for subjects so far apart; and the union of the language of courtly and 
of common life, exhibited most conspicuously by Burns, has given a tone to the poetry 
of that century which is better explained by reference to its historical origin than by 
naming it, in the common criticism of our day, artificial. There is, again, a nobleness 
of thought, a courageous aim at high and in a strict sense manly excellence, in many of 
the writers; nor can that period be justly termed tame and wanting in originality, 
which produced poems such as Pope's Satires, Gray's Odes and Elegy, the ballads of 
Gay and Carey, the songs of Burns and Cowper. In truth, Poetry at this as at all 
times was a more or less unconscious mirror of the genius of the age ; and the brave 
and admirable spirit of inquiry which made the eighteenth century tlie turning-time 
in European civilization is reflected faithfully in its verse. An intelligent reader will 



NOTES. 



433 



find the influence of Newton as markedly in the poems of Pope, as of Elizabeth in the 
plays of Shakespeare. On this great subject, however, these indications must here be 
sufficient. 



124 cxxiii. 



125 — 

126 — 



128 cxxv. 

129 cxxvi 



The Biud. This Ode is founded on a fable that Edward I., after conquer- 
ing Wales, put the native poets to death. After lamenting his comrades 
(stanzas 2, 3), the Bard prophesies the fate of Edward II. and the conquests 
of Edward III. (4) ; his death and that of the Black Prince (5) ; of Richard 
II., with the wars of York and Lancaster, the murder of Henry VI. (the 
me.ek niurper), and of Edward V. and his brother (6). He turns to the 
glory and prosperitj' following the accession of the Tudors (7), through 
Elizabeth's reign (8), and concludes with a vision of the poetry of Shake- 
speare and Milton. 

1. 9, Glo'ster, Gilbert de Clare, son-in-law to Edward. L. 10, Mortimer, 
one of the Lords Marchers of Wales. L. 31, Arvoii : the shores of Carnar- 
vonshire opposite Anglesea. 

1. 17, She-wolf: Isabel of France, adulterous Queen of Edward II. 
I. 11, Towers of Julius : the Tower of London, built in part, according to 
tradition, by Julius Caesar. L. 17, bristled boar: the badge of Richard 
III. L. 23, Il'ilf of thy heart : Queen Eleanor died soon after the conquest 
of Wales. L. 33, Arthur: Henry VII. named his eldest son thus, in 
deference to British feeling and legend. 
The Highlanders called the battle of Culloden, Drumossie. 
lilting, singing blithely; loaning, broad lane; bughts, pens; scorning, rally- 
ing ; dowie, dreary ; dnffin', and gahbin', joking and chatting ; leglin, milk- 
pail ; shearing, reaping ; 'bandsters, sheaf-binders ; li/nrf, grizzled ; runkled, 
wrinkled; Jleeching, coaxing; gloaming, twilight; bogle, ghost; dool, 
sorrow. 

131 cxxviii. The Editor has found no authoritative text of this poem, in his judgment 
superior to any other of its class in melod}' and pathos. Part is probably 
not later than the seventeenth century ; in other stanzas a more modern 
hand, much resembling Scott's, is traceable. Logan's poem (cxxvii.) ex- 
hibits a knowledge rather of the old legend than of the old verses. Hecht, 
promised, — the obsolete /i!f//)</ mavis, thrush; ilka, every; lav'rock, lark; 
haughs, valley-meadows; twined, parted from; marrow, mate; syne, then. 
The Royal George, of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a partial careening in 
Portsmouth Harbor, was overset about 10 a.m., August 29, 1782. The 
total loss was believed to be near one thousand souls. 

A little masterpiece in a very difficult style : Catullus himself could hardly 
have bettered it. In grace, tenderness, simplicity, and humor it is worthy 
of the ancients ; and even more so, from the corfipleteness and unity of the 
picture presented. 

140 cxxxvi. Perhaps no writer who has given such strong proofs of the poetic nature 
has left less satisfactory poetry than Thomson, Yet he touched little 
which be did not beautify ; and this song, with " Rule Britannia" and a 
few others, must make us regret that he did not more seriously apply him- 
self to lyrical writing. 

28 



133 cxxix. 



136 cxxxi. 



434 



NOTES. 



PAGE NO. 

143 cxL. 



144 — 

146 — 
148 cxLi. 
150 cxLii. 
152 cxLiv. 



156 cxLvii. 

161 CXLVIII. 

162 cxLix. 

163 CLi. 

164 CLii. 



165 CLiii. 



166 CUV. 



168 CLV. 

169 CLVi. 

170 CLvii. 

— CLVIII. 

177 CLXi. 



1. 1, ^olian lyre : the Greeks ascribed the origin of their Lyrical Poetry 
to the colonies of ^olis in Asia Minor. T/iracia's kills (1. 17) : supposed 
a favorite resort of Mars. Feather'd hiiuj (1. 21) : the Eagle of Jupiter, 
admirably described by Pindar in a passage here imitated by Graj'. 
Idnlia (1. 27) in Cyprus, where Cyiherea (Venus) was especially wor- 
shipped. 

1. 24, Hii2)erion : the sun. Stanzas 6-8 allude to the poets of the islands 
and mainland of Greece, to those of Piome and of England. 
1. 15, Theban Eagle : Pindar. 
1. 35, chaste-eyed Queen : Diana. 
Attic warbler : the nightingale. 

sleekit, sleek; bickerinrj brattle, fluttering flight ; laith, loath ; pattle, plough- 
staff; ichyles, at times: a daimen icker, a corn-ear now and then; throve, 
shock; lave, rest; fof/r/age, aftergrass; snell, biting; 6m/ hold, without 
dwelling-place; thole, bear; cranreuch, hoarfrost; thy lane, alone; a-gley, 
ofi" the right line, awry. 
Perhaps the noblest stanzas in our language. 
stnure, dust-storm ; braic, smart. 
scaith, hvLxi ; /e«<, guard ; steer, molest. 
drnmlie, muddy ; hirk, birch. 

greet, cry ; daurna, dare not. — There can hardly exist a poem more truly 
tragic in the highest sense than this; nor, except Sappho, has any poetess 
known to the Editor equalled it in excellence. 

foil, merry with drink; coost, carried; «»eo skeigh, very proud; gnrt, 
forced; nbeigh, aside; Ailsa Craig, a rock in the Firth of Clyde; grat his 
eeti bleer, cried till his eyes were bleared; lowpin, leaping; linn, waterfall; 
sair, sore; smoor'd, smothered; crouse and canty, blithe .nnd gay. 
Burns justly named this " one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or 
any other language." One verse, interpolated by Bealtie, is here omitted : 
it contains two good lines, but is quite out of harmony with the origi- 
nal poem. Bigonet, little cap, — probably altered from beguinette ; throw, 
twist ; caller, fresh. 

airts, quarters; roiv, roll; show, small wood in a hollow, spinney; knoicea, 
knolls. 

jn, sweetheart; brent, smooth; pow, head. 
leal, faithful; fain, happy. 
Henry VI. founded Eton. 

The Editor knows no Sonnet more remarkable than this, which, with 
CLXII., records Cowper's gratitude to the lady whose afTectionate care for 
many years gave what sweetness he could enjoy to a life radically wretched. 
Petrarch's sonnets have a more ethereal grace and a more perfect finish, 
Shakespeare's more passion ; Milton's stand supreme in statcliness, Words- 
worth's in depth and delicacy. But Cowper's unites with an exquisite- 
ness in the turn of thought which the ancients would have called Ii'ony, 
an intensity of pathetic tenderness peculiar to his loving and ingenuous 
nature. — There is much mannerism, much that is unimportant or of now 
exhausted interest, in his poems; but where he is great, it is with that 



NOTES. 435 



elementary greatness which rests on the most universal human feelings. 
Cowper is our highest master in simple pathos. 

ISO CLXlll. fancied green : cheri«h(.d garden. 

— CLXiv. Nothing except his surname appears recoverable with regard to the author 
of this truly noble poem. It should be noted as exhibiting a rare excel- 
lence, — the climax of simple sublimity. 

It is a lesson of high instructiveness to examine the essential qualities 
which give first-rate poetical rank to lyrics such as " To-morrow" or " Sally 
in our Alley," when compared with poems written (if the phrase may be 
^ allowed) in keys so different as the subtle sweetness of Shelley, the gran- 

deur of Gray and Milton, or the delightful Pastoralism of the Elizabethan 
verse. Intelligent readers will gain hence a clear understanding of the 
vast imaginative range of Poeti-y ; — through what wide oscillations the 
mind and the taste of a nation may pass ; — how many are the roads which 
Truth and Nature open to excellence. 

Siimmari/ of Boole Fourth. 

It proves sufficiently the lavish wealth of our own age in Poetry, that the pieces 
which, without conscious departure from the standard of excellence, render this Book 
by far the longest, were with very few exceptions composed during the first thirty years 
of the nineteenth century. Exhaustive reasons can hardly be given for the strangely 
sudden appearance of individual genius; but none, in the Editor's judgment, can be 
less adequate than that which assigns the splendid national achievements of our recent 
poetry to an impulse from the frantic follies and criminal wars that at the time dis- 
graced the least essentially civilized of our foreign neighbors. The first French Revo- 
lution was rather, in his opinion, one result, and in itself by no means the most impor- 
tant, of that far wider and greater spirit which through inquiry and doubt, through 
pain and triumph, sweeps mankind round the circles of its gradual development; and 
it is to this that we must trace the literature of modern Europe. But, without more 
detailed discussion on the motive causes of Scott, Wordsworth, Campbell, Keats, and 
Shelley, we may observe that these Poets, with others, carried to further perfection the 
later tendencies of the century preceding, in simplicity of narrative, reverence for 
human passion and character in every sphere, and impassioned love of Nature : — that, 
whilst mnintaining on the whole the advances in art made since the Restoration, they 
rencwerl the half-forgotten melody and depth of tone which marked the best Elizabethan 
writers: — that, lastly, to what was thus inherited they added a richness in language 
and a variety in metre, a force and fire in narrative, a tenderness and bloom in feeling, 
an insight into the finer passages of the soul and the inner meanings of the landscape, 
a larger and wiser humanity, hitherto hardly attained, and perhaps unattainable even 
liy predecessors of not inferior individual genius. In a word, the nation which, after 
the Greeks in their glory, has been the most gifted of all nations for Poetry, expressed 
in these men the highest strength and prodigality of its nature. They interpreted the 
age to itself — hence the many phases of thought and style they present : — to sympa- 
thize with each, fervently and impartially, without fear and without fancifulness, is no 
doubtful step in the higher education of the soul. For, as with the affections and the 
conscience, purity in taste is absolutely proportionate to strength ; and when once 



436 



NOTES. 



the mind has raised itself to grasp and to delight in excellence, those who love most 
will be found to love most wisely. 



PAGE NO. 

182 cbxvi. 



187 CLXix. 

— CLXX. 



206 cxci. 



214: cxcviii. 



215 cci. 

216 ecu. 

226 ccix. 

227 ccx. 
P.ZO ccxv. 

234 ccxviii. 

247 ccxxix, 
243 ccxxx. 



stout Oortez : History requires here Balboa: (A. T.) It may be noticed 
that to find in Cljapman's Homer the " pure serene" of the original, the 
reader must bring with him the imagination (if the youthful poet: — he 
must be "a Greek himself," as Shelley finely said of Keats. 
The most tender and true of Byron's smaller poems. 

This poem, with ccxxxvi., exemplifies the peculiar skill with which Scott 
employs proper names: — nor -is there a surer sign of high poetitiil 
genius. 

The Editor in this and in other instances has risked the addition (or the 
change) of a title, that the aim of the verses following may be grasped 
more clearly and immediately. 

Nature's Eremite : like a solitary thing in Nature. This beautiful Son- 
net was the last word of a poet deserving the title " marvellous boy" in a 
much higher sense than Chatterton. If the fulfilment may ever safely be 
prophesied from the promise, England appears to have lost in Keats one 
whose gifts in poetry have rarely been surpassed. Shakespeare, Milton, 
and Wordsworth, had their lives been closed at twenty-five, would (so far 
as we know) have left poems of less excellence and hope than the youth 
who, from the petty school and the London surgery, passed at once to a 
place with them of "high collateral glory." 

It is impossible not to regret that Moore has written so little in this sweet 
and genuinely national style. 

A masterly example of Byron's command of strong thought and close rea- 
soning in verse: — as the next is equally characteristic of Shelley's way- 
ward intensity, and cciv. of the dramatic power, the vital identification 
of the poet with other times and characters, in which Scott is second only 
to Shakespeare. 

Bonnivard, a Genevese, was imprisoned by the Duke of Savoy in Chillon 
on the Lake of Geneva for his courageous defence of his country against 
the tyranny with which Piedmont threatened it during the first half of 
the seventeenth century. This noble Sonnet is worthy to stand near 
Milton's on the Vaudois massacre. 

Switzerland was usurped by the French under Napoleon in 1800; Venice 
in 1797 (ccxi.). 

This battle was fought December 2, 1800, between the Aastrians under 
Archduke John and the French under Moreau, in a forest near Munich. 
Hohen Linden means Hi//h Linie-lrees. 

After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, Sir John Moore retreated before 
Soult and Ney to Corunna, and was killed whilst covering the embarka- 
tion of his troops. His tomb, built by Ney, bears this inscription : 
"John Moore, leader of the English armies, slain in battle, 1809." 
The Mermaid was the club-house of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and other 
choice spirits of that age. 
Maisie: Mary. Scott has given us nothing more complete and lovely 



NOTES. 437 

PAGE NO. 

than this little song, which unites simplicity and dramatic power to a 
wild-wood music of the rarest quality. No moral is drawn, far less any 
conscious analysis of feeling attempted : — the pathetic meaning is left to 
be suggested by the mere presentment of the situation. Inexperienced 
critics have often named this, which may be called the Homeric manner, 
superficial, from its apparent simple facility ; but first-rate excellence in 
it (as shown here, in cxcvi., clvi., and cxxix.) is in truth one of the least 
common triumphs of Poetry. This style should be compared with what 
is not less perfect in its way, the searching out of inner feeling, the ex- 
pression of hidden meanings, the revelation of the heart of nature and of 
the soul within the soul, — the analytical method, in short, — most com- 
pletely represented by Wordsworth and by Shelley. 

254 ccxxxiv. correi : covert on a hill-side. Cumber: trouble. 

268 ccXLiii. This poem has an exaltation and a glory, joined with an exquisiteness of 
expression, which place it in the highest rank amongst the many master- 
pieces of its illustrious author. 

279 CCLII. 1. 6, interlunar swoon : interval of the moon's invisibility. 

28i ccLVi. Calpe: Gibraltar. Lofoden : the Maelstrom whirlpool off the north- 
west coast of Norway. 

286 ccLTii. This lovely poem refers here and there to a ballad by Hamilton on the 
subject better treated in cxxvii. and cxxviii. 

299 CCLXVIII. Arcturi : seemingly used for northern stars. And loild rosea, etc. Our 
language has no line modulated with more subtle sweetness. A good 
poet »u'^/ii have written And roses loild : — yet this slight change would 
disenchant the verse of its peculiar beauty. 

303 CCLXX. 1. 23, Oeres' daughter : Proserpine, h. 2i, God of Torment: Pluto. 

304: CCLXXI. This impassioned address expresses Shelley's most rapt imaginations, and 
is the direct modern representative of the feeling which led the Greeks to 
the worship of nature. 

314 ccLXXiv. The leading idea of this beautiful description of a day's landscape in 

Italy is expressed with an obscurity not unfrequent with its author. It 
appears to be, — On the voyage of life are many moments of pleasure, 
given by the sight of Nature, who has power to heal even the worldliness 
and the uncharity of man. 

315 --^ 1. 26, Amphitrite was daughter to Ocean. 

316 — 1. 8, Sun-girt City : It is difiicult not to believe that the correct reading is 

Sea-girt. Many of Shelley's poems appear to have been printed in England 
during his residence abroad ; others were printed from his manuscripts 
after his death. Hence probahly the text of no English poet after 1660 
contains so many errors. See the Note on No. ix. 

320 CCLXXV. 1. 3, M«nad: a frenzied Nymph, attendant on Dionysus in the Greek 

mythology. L. 21, Plants under water sympathize with the seasons of 
the land, and hence with the winds which affect them. 

321 CCLXXVI. Written soon after the death, by shipwreck, of AYordsworth's brother 

John. This poem should be compared with Shelley's following it. Each 
is the m9st complete expression of the innermost spirit of his art given by 
these great Poets: of that Idea which, as in the case of the true Painter 



438 NOTES. 



(to quote the words of Reynolds), " subsists only in the mind : The sight 
never beheld it, nor has the band expressed it; it is an idea residing in 
the breast of the artist, which he is always laboring to impart, and which 
he dies at last without imparting." 

323 CCLXXVI. 1. 6, the Kind : the human race. 

324 ocLxxviii. Proteus represented the everlasting changes, united with ever- recurrent 

sameness, of the Sea. 
— CCLXXix. the royal Suint : Henry VI. 

Summary of Book Fifth. 

It is doubtful whether the undeniable brilliancy of the period represented in this Book 
should be regarded as a distinct efi'ulgenee, with a dawn and glory of its own, or as 
merely the after-glow of that far greater splendor which illuminated the close of the last 
and the earlier portion of the present century. No such lines of demarcation can be 
traced as were then visible in the abandonment of established models, the advent of a 
more powerful spirit, and the setting up of new ideals. In much of the poetry of this 
later epoch we see a reflected light from the genius of the preceding period, especially of 
Wordsworth, Shelley, and Keats. Yet a careful comparison would show that in poetry, 
as in other branches of literature, there has been an influx of sentiments and concep- 
tions, a widening of the field of observation and experience, and an introduction of new 
methods and forms, corresponding with the general intellectual tendencies and activi- 
ties of the age. With less of fire, of sweetness, and of strength, we find a closer ana- 
lytical study of life, a more exact and minute knowledge of external nature, of history, 
and of other subjects that may be made subsidiary to the purposes of art, and a fuller 
and more philosophical appreciation of the problems of humanity. The expression of 
individual passion, as of love and grief, is less often limited to outbursts of personal 
emotion, appealing to the common sympathies, than subordinated to some far-reach- 
ing exploration of the mysteries of existence, calling into play all the faculties of the 
soul. These traits are, of course, more conspicuous in the longer poems of Tenny- 
son, Browning, Matthew Arnold, and others, than in the class to which this selection is 
confined, but the same spirit prevails in productions of almost every kind and every 
writer. In one respect the poetical genius of our time is best displayed in some of its 
shorter productions. It has developed the "dramatic lyric," a form of composition 
which is not less characteristic than the ballad and the ode of earlier times, and a few 
of the finest examples of which form, consequently, a distinctive feature of this Book. 
Finally, it should be noted thnt, amid influences strongly adverse to ideal beliefs and 
elevated desires, poetry, and especially the best poetry, has in general resisted this 
tendency and continued to breathe strains of encouragement and aspiration. 

PA 1 E NO. 

342 ccxcii. One of the clearest and most melodious, yet also one of the subtlest in 
suggestion, of the author's poems. The comparison of poetry, the great 
field in which the imagination has full Jilay, to llie sea, — in distinction 
both from the solid land of fact and from the " finer element" represented 
by the air and appropriated to " the spirit-sort," — is something more than 
the mere " fancy" which it is called in the opening line. The ceaseless mo- 
tion, the rhythmic beat, the swell and fall, the changeful aspects, beautiful 



^ 



NOTES. 



439 



and sublime, of the ocean, are typical of that ai't in which the human soul 
has expressed itself with most freedom, completeness, variety, and contin- 
uousuess. Hence the peculiar attractiveness of the sea, beyond all other 
material objects, as a theme of poetry, from Homer downwards. In 
ocxciii. the pursuit of the ideal, which poetry especially exalts and repre- 
sents, is aptly symbolized by an endless voyage over tlie limitless ocean. 

348 ccxcv. Not the least of the fascinations of the sea is that winch urists from the 
contrast, here suggested or implied rather than expressed, between its 
seemingly eternal and unchangeiible activity and the rapid vanishing of 
human life. From the melancholy thus inspired the transition is obvious 
to the terror awakened by its destructive power, recalled in the two poems 
that follow. 

351 ccxcviii. Here it is the perpetual flow of the rivulet that suggests the transitori- 
ness of human existence, — a common thought, but expressed in this poem 
with rare beauty and a music that seems the very echo of the babbling 
voices of the stream. The theme is repeated, more briefly and with a 
deeper tone of sadness, in the next poem, and again in ccci., which leads 
to others treating more directly of loss and grief. 

359 cccvi. Sophocles heard it : The passage referred to occurs in the " (Edipus Colo- 
neus," 1240 et seq. This poem, and more particularly those that imme- 
diately follow, deal with the influences and lessons derivable from Nature. 
Mr. Arnold, among contemporary writers, recurs to this topic most fre- 
quently and with the deepest sensibility. Hence he is often spoken of 
as a follower of Wordsworth. There is, however, this difference, that 
whereas Wordsworth finds, mingling with the voices of Nature, 

The still, sad music of humanity, 
Not harsh nor (/rating, 



Mr. Arnold hears only " a thousand discords," an "impious" and " sense- 
less uproar," in the sounds of human toil and struggle, and seeks, with 
an almost Byronic misanthropy, that peace of Nature, which "man did 
not make and cannot mar." 

It is a pity that this line sonnet, like that by the same author on " The 
Poet" (ccxc), should be defaced by false rhymes. " Viewed" and " good," 
"would" and "altitude," "girds" and "swards," are distressing combi- 
nations. There are other faults of expression in this sonnet, but one can- 
not but acknowledge its superiority in tone and spirit to the one by Mr. 
Arnold which follows, though the general purport of the two is so similar 
as easily to seem identical. 

This sonnet was written in friendly competition with Shelley and Keats, 
each undertaking to compose one on the same subject, and an excellent 
critic, Mr. J. A. Noble, is of opinion that in this wit-contest Hunt "dis- 
tanced his great compeers." It has usually been supposed that the son- 
net produced on that occasion by Shelley was the one entitled " Ozyman- 
dias;" but this contains no direct allusions to the Nile, and another, much 
inferior but adhering strictly to the given theme, has been recently dis- 



440 



NOTES. 



covered. Neither the latter nur Keats's sonnet is comparable to that of 
Hunt, but " Ozymandias" has a majesty and impressiveness more admira- 
ble than the delicate beauty of its supposed rival. 
369 cccxv. A fine example of tlie exquisite skill and imaginative feeling with which 
the author has worked out so many suggestions derived from the stores 
of ancient, as well as mediajval, literature, Odysseus and his compan- 
ions having landed in the country of the Lotophagi (described by Herod- 
otus as lying on the Libyan coast), such of them as partook of the en- 
chanted fruit lost all desire to return home or wander farther, and by the 
order of their leader were bound and carried off in the ships. (Odyssey, 
ix. 82-104.) In the stanzas prefixed to the " Choric Ode" the arrival of 
the voyagers in a land 

In which it seemed always afternoon 

is depicted with a beauty that owes nothing to Homer, but tuey are not 
necessary for the understanding of the poem, which, as a lyric, is more 
perfect without them. 

374 cccxix. The greater number of Tennyson's songs are incorporated in long poems, 
of which, in this instance and a few others, they form essential parts ; but 
they can always be disconnected without the need of explanation from 
the context, and are generally most enjoyable when read separately. 

378 cccxxili. This sonnet and the four that follow are from the so-styled " Sonnets from 
the Portuguese," a title that but thinly veils the origin and significance 
of the series. They belong, in fact, to the same class as Shakespeare's 
Sonnets, — autobiographical poems, — and in the mingled intensity and 
purity of the passion they reveal and the flawless beauty of the utterance 
are unsurpassed by any similar productions in the language. As in most 
love-poems, Shakespeare's being the notable exception, the thought lies 
generally on the surface, a note in the gamut which lovers have rehearsed 
in all ages. (Compare, for example, cccxxiv. with the anonymous poem 
in Book Second, xcvii.) To be fully appreciated, the whole series should 
be read continuously. 

388 cccxxxv. This is perhaps the best example of the author's peculiar style, though 
one at least of his longer poems. The Last Coii/essiun, shows a semi-dra- 
matic power and insight, together with a freedom of manner, which 
might have been developed with ampler results by the sacrifice of a some- 
what perverse theory of art. 

400 cccxLV. The date, 17 — , it need hardly be said, is intended to indicate the period 
— which, however, extended into the present century — when the smallest 
offences against property were punishable under the law of England with 
death. 

411 cccLii. This poem, full of wisdom and a serene courage, demands careful study. 
The difficulty lies in tracing the exact sequence of the thought, detecting, 
so to speak, the hinges of the argument, a difficulty that proceeds mainly 
from the inadequacy of punctuation to indicate what is digressive or com- 
plementary in a style so condensed and closely knit. The Rabbi Ben 



NOTES. 441 

PAGE NO. 

Ezra, — or, more correctly, Ibn Ezra, — a Spanish Jew of the twelfth cen- 
tury, renowned for his learning and virtue, left writings still extant, in 
which Mr. Browning, it is to be inferred, found the germ of this noble 
poem. 

421 CCCLX. The verdict of Coleridge, that this is " the most grandly conceived sonnet 
in the language," has met with the general concurrence of the best judges 
in more recent times. That the execution falls short of the concej)tion is 
also generally admitted. It is, as Rossetti remarked, the production of a 
prosaist. Yet the positive faults, of which the coupling of "fly" and 
' " insect" is the most obvious, displease the less because they might so 

easily have been remedied, while it is by a fine stroke of art that the ap- 
plication of the image employed is held in suspense till the close and then 
brought out with undiluted force. Some shallow criticism has been ex- 
pended on the ideas of the sonnet, as if it had been intended or regarded 
as a demonstration of the doctrine of immortality. Its subject is the pos- 
■ sibility of an existence behind the illusions of sense and beyond the limits 
of human comprehension, and it is to the unique aptness and vividness, 
as well as the beauty, of the illustration by which this truth is enforced 
that the poem owes its well-deserved fame. 

423 cccLXiii. The vision of "a good time coming/' of a perfected world and purified 
humanity, is a hackneyed theme, and as ordinarily treated the reverse of 
attractive. Yet it underlies all ideal conceptions and progressive hopes 
and aims, and is properly the first and last word of the poet, who draws 
from it his inspiration while traversing the cycle of emotional thought, 
and who holds the general ear because he invokes the breathing of a 
"diviner air," the breaking of a "diviner light," and 

sings of what the world will be 
When the years have passed away. 



IE"DEX OF WKITEES. 

WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH. 

Alexander, William (1580-1640), xxii. 

Arnold, Matthew (1822 ), occvi., cccviii., cccxi., cccxiii., cccxliv., cccli. 

Bacon, Francis (1561-1626), lvii. 

Barbauld, Anna Laetitia (1743-1825), clxv. 

Barnefield, Richard (16th century), xxxiv. 

Beaumont, Francis (1586-1616), lxvii. 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1809-1861), ccxc, cccai., ccciv., cccxii., cccxxir., 

CCCXXIII., cccxxiv., cccxxv., cccxxvi., cccxxvii., cccxxxiii., cccl., ccolviii. 
Browning, Robert (1812 ), ccxcii., cccxvi., cccxviii., cccxxx., cccxxxii., cccxlvi., 

CCCXLVII., CCCLII., CCCLIX. 

Burns, Robert (1759-1796), cxxv., cxxxii., cxxxix., cxliv., cxlviu., cxlix., cl., 

CLI., CLIH., CLV., CLVI. 

Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788-1824), clxix., clxxi., clxxiii., cxc, ecu., ccix., 
ccxxii., ccxxxn. 

Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844), clxxxi., clxxxiii., clxxxvii., cxcvii., ccvi., ccvii., 

CCXV., CCLVI., cclxii., cclxvii., cclxxxiii. 
Carew, Thomas (1589-1639), lxxxvii. 

Carey, Henry ( 1743), cxxxi. 

Gibber, Colley (1671-1757), cxix. 

Clough, Arthur Hugh (1819-1861), ccxci., ccxciv., cccxlix., ccclxi, 

Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849), clxxv. 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834), clxviii., cclxxx. 

Collins, William (1720-1756,) cxxiv., cxli., cxlvi. 

Collins, (18th century), clxiv. 

Constable, Henry (156-?-1604 ?) xv. 

Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667), on. 

CowPER, William (1731-1800), cxxix., cxxxiv., CXLIII., CLX., CLXI., Clxii. 

Crashaw, Richard (1615 ?-1652), lxxix. 

Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842), ccv. 

Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619), xxxv. 

Dekker, Thomas ( 1638?), liv. 

Drayton, Michael (1563-1631), xxxvii. 

Drummond, William (1585-1649), ii., xxxviii., XLiii., lv., lviii., lix., lxi. 

Dryden, John (1631-1700) lxiii., cxvi. 

443 



444 INDEX OF WRITERS. 

Elliott, Jane (IStli century), cxxvi. 
Fletcher, John (1576-1625), civ. 

Gay, John (1688-1732), cxxx. 
Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774), cxxxviii. 

Graham, (1735-1797), cxxxiii. 

Gray, Thomas (1716-1771), cxvii., cxx., cxxiii., cxl., cxlii., cxlvii., clviii., clix. 

Herbert, George (1593-1632), lxxiv. 

Herrick, Robert (1591-1674?), lxxxii., lxxxviii., xcii., xciii., xcvi., cix., ex. 

Heywood, Thomas ( 1649 ?), lii. / 

IIooD, Thomas (1798-1845), ccxxiv., ccxxxi., ccxxxv. 
Hunt, James Henry Leigh (1784-1859), cccxiv., cccxlyiii. 

Ingelow, Jean (1830 ), cccx. 

JoN'sox, Ben (1574-1637), lxxiii., lxxviii., xc. 

Keats, John (1795-1821), clxvi., clxvii., cxci., cxciii., cxcviii., cxcix., ccxxix., 

ccxliv., cclv., cclxx., cclxxxiv. 
Kingsley, Charles (1819-1876), ccxovi., ccxcvii., ccc, cccxl. 

Lamb, Charles (1775-1835), ccxx., ccxxxiii., ccxxxvii. 

Landor, Walter Savage (1775-1864), cccix., cccLiii., cccuv. 

Lindsay, Anne (1750-1825), clii. 

Lodge, Thomas (1556-1625), xvi. 

Logan, John (1748-1788), cxxvii. 

Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658), lxxxiii., xcix., c. 

Lylye, John (1554-16U0), li. 

Marlowe, Christopher (1562-1593), v. 

Marvell, Andrew (1620-1678), LXA^, cxi., cxiv. 

MiCKLE, AVilliam Julius (1734-1788), CLiv. 

Milton, John (1608-1674), lxii., lxiv., lxvi., lxx., lxxl, lxxvi., lxxvii., lxxxv., 

ox II., CXIII., CXT. 

MooKE, Thomas (1780-1852), clxxxv., cci., ccxvii., ccxxi., ccxxv. 

Nairn, Carolina (1766-1845), clvii. 
Nash, Thomas (1567-1601 ?), i. 

Philips, Ambrose (1671-1749), cxxi. 
Pope, Alexander (1688-1744), cxviii. 
Prior, Mathew (1664-1721), cxxxvii. 

Rogers, Samuel (1762-18;5), cxxxv., cxlv. 

RossETTi, Christina Georgina (1830 ), cccvii., cccxxxi., occxxxiv., cccxxxvi., 

CCCXXXVIII., CCCLV. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel (1828-1882), cccxx., cccxxi., cccxxix., cccxxxv., ccclvii. 



INDEX OF WRITERS. 445 

Scott, Walter (1771-1832), rv., clxx., clxxxii., clxxxvi., cxcii., cxciv., cxcvi., cciv., 

CCXXX., CCXXXIV., CCXXXVI., CCXXXIX., CCLXIII. 

Sedley, Charles (1639-1701), lxxxi., xcviii. 

Sewell, George ( 1726), clxiii. 

Shakespeare, William (1564-1C16), iii., iv., vi., vii., viii., x., xi., xii., xiii., xiv., 

XVIII., XIX., XX., XXIII., XXVI., XXVII., XXVIII., XXIX., XXX., XXXI., XXXII., xxxvi., 
XXXIX., XLII., XLIV., XLV., XLVI., XLVIII., XLIX., L., LVI., LX. 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822), clxxii., clxxvi., clxxxiv., clxxxviii., cxcv., 

CCIII., CCXXVI., CCXXVII., CCXLI., CCXLVI., CCLII., CCLIX., CCLX., CCLXIV , CCLXV., 
CCLXVIII., CCLXXI., CCLXXIV., CCLXXV., CCLXXVII., CCLXXXV., CCLXXXVIII. 

'Shirley, James (1596-1666), lxviii., lxix. 
Sid.vey, Philip (1554-1586), xxiv. 
SouTHEY, Robert (1774-1843), ccxvi., ccxxviii. 
Spenser, Edmund (1553-1588-9), liii. 
Suckling, John (1608-9-1641), ci. 

Swinburne, Algernon Charles (1837 ), cccv., cccxlii., cccxliii. 

Sylvester, Joshua (1563-1618), xxv. 

Tennyson, Alfred (1809 ), cclxxxix., ccxciii., ccxcv., ccxcviii., ccxcix., ccci., 

cccii., cccxv., cccxvii., cccxix., cccxxvin., cccxxxvii., cccxxxix., cccxli., cccxlv., 
ccclvi., ccclxii., ccclxiii. 

Thomson, James (1700-1748), cxxii., cxxxvi. 

Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695), lxxv. 
Verb, Edward (1534-1604), xli. 

Waller, Edmund (1605-1687), lxxxix., xcv, 

Webster, John ( 1638?), xlvii. 

White, Joseph Blanco (1775-1841), ccclx. 

Wither, George (1588-1667), cm. 

AVoLFE, Charles (1791-1823), ccxviii. 

Wordsworth, William (1770-1850), clxxiv., clxxvii., clxxviii., clxxix., clxxx., 

CLXxxix., cc, ccvm., CCX., CCXI., CCXII., CCXIII., CCXIV., CCXIX., CCXXIII., CCXXXVIII., 
CCXL., CCXLII., CCXLIII., CCXLV., CCXLVII., CCXLVIII., CCXLIX., CCL., CCLI., CCLIII., CCLIV.,- 
CCLVII., CCLVIII., CCLXI., CCLXVI., CCLXIX., CCLXXII., OCLXXIII., CCLXXVI., CCLXXVIII., 
CCLXXIX., CCLXXXI., CCLXXXII., CCLXXXVI., CCLXXXVII. 

Wotton, Henry (1568-1639) lxxii., lxxxiv. 
Wyat, Thomas (1503-1542), xxi., xxxiii. 

Unknown: ix., xvii., xl,, lxxx., lxxxvi., xci., xciv., xcvii., cvi., cvii., cviii., 

CXXVIII. 



IISTDEX OF FIEST LIE'ES. 



% PAGE 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 407 

Absence, hear thou my protestation 7 

A chieftain to the Highlands bound ......... 19fi 

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 298 

Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 76 

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh 201 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon 394 

All along the valley, stream that flashest white 354 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd 134 

All the bells of heaven may ring 397 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights 184 

And are ye sure the news is true 166 

And is this — Yarrow ? — this the Stream 288 

And thou art dead, as young and fair 216 

And wilt thou leave me thus 22 

Ariel to Miranda : — Take 278 

Art thou pale for weariness 297 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers 39 

As it fell upon a day 23 

As I was walking all alane 96 

A slumber did my spirit seal 1"° 

As slow our ship her foamy track 239 

As through the land at eve we went 395 

A sweet disorder in the dress ^^ 

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears 277 

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly 215 

Avenge, Lord ! thy slaughtered Saints, whose bones 64 

Awake, MoU&n lyre, awake 14:3 

Awake, awake, my Lyre "^ 

Away, haunt thou not me ^22 

A weary lot is thine, fair maid 210 

A wet sheet and a flowing sea 220 

A widow bird sate mourning for her Love 297 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth 182 

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead 384 

Beauty sat bathing by a spring 12 

447 



448 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 

PAGE 

Behold her, single in the field , 276 

Being your slave, what should I do but tend 7 

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 267 

Best and Brightest, come away 291 

Bid me to live, and I will live 86 

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy Ill 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 28 

Break, break, break . . . ." 348 

Bright Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art 214 

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 31 

Calm was the day, and through the trembling air 34 

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms 66 

Care-charmer sleep, son of the sable Night 24 

Child, when they say that others 395 

Clear and cool, clear and cool .......••• ^53 

Come away, come away, Death .,.....••• 2J 

Come into the garden, Maud 374 

Come live with me and be my Love . 4 

Come not, when I am dead 393 

Come, Poet, come !........••••• 341 

Come to me in the silence of the night ......... 387 

Crabbed Age and Youth 5 

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 33 

Cyriaok, whoso grandsire, on the royal bench 71 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power 173 

Daughter to that good earl, once President 79 

Degenerate Douglas ! the unworthy lord 273 

Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly 10 

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 418 

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move 43 

Down in yon garden sweet and gay ......... 131 

Drink to me only with thine eyes .......... 83 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo . . 165 

Earl March look'd on his dying child 213 

Earth has not anything to show more fair ' . . . 272 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 226 

Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky 262 

Even as a child, of sorrow that we give 382 

Even in a palace life may be led well 410 

Ever let the Fancy roam 301 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 98 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree • • .97 

Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing 21 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 449 

PAGE 

Fear death ? — to feel the fog in iny throat . . ■ 420 

Fear no more the boat o' the sun .......... 30 

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea 352 

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 140 

Forget not yet the tried intent 15 

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year ........ 332 

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony ........ 52 

From Stirling Castle we had seen .......... 286 

Full fathom five thy father lies 31 

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may ......... 77 

Gem of the crimson-color'd Even 202 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine. .......... 138 

Go, lovely Rose 82 

Grow old along with me . . . . . . . . . . . 411 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit 263 

Happy the man whose wish and care ......... 118 

Hap])y those early days, when I .......... 70 

He is gone on the mountain ........... 254 

He that loves a rosy cheek ........... 81 

Hence, all you vain delights . . . . . . . . . . .92 

Hence, loathed Melancholy 101 

Hence, vain deluding Joys ........... 105 

Home they brought her warrior dead 394 

How delicious is the winning 199 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways ....... 381 

How hnppy is he born and taught .......... 68 

How like a winter hath my absence been ........ 8 

How sleep the Brave who sink to rest 128 

How sweet the answer Echo makes 201 

How vainly men themselves amaze ..,...,.. 99 

I am monarch of all I survey .....,.,.. 175 

I arise from dreams of thee ........... 190 

I come from haunts of coot and hern 351 

I dream'd that, as I wander'd by the way 299 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 155 

If doughty deeds my lady please .......... 138 

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 193 

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 380 

If I were thou, butterfly 408 

If thou must love me, let it be for nought 379 

If thou survive my well-contented day 31 

If to be absent were to be . . ......... 89 

If women could be fair, and yet not fond 28 

I have had playmates, I have had companions 238 

29 



450 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 

PAGE 

I heard a thousand blended notes 305 

I met a traveller from an antique land 272 

I'm wearing awa', Jean ............ 170 

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland 356 

In a drear-nighted December 206 

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours . 381 

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining 180 

In the sweet shire of Cardigan .......... 2:{5 

In this lone, open glade I lie 362 

I remember, I remember 242 

I saw where in the shroud did lurk 257 

Is it not better at an early hour 418 

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he 405 

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless 356 

It flows through old hush'd Egypt and its sands 368 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung 378 

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 295 

It is not Beauty I demand 80 

It is not growing like a tree 69 

I travell'd among unknown men . 194 

It was a lover and his lass ...........6 

It was a summer evening 231 

It was the winter wild . 46 

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 129 

I walk'd beside a dark gray sea 364 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 281 

I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged Pile 321 

I wish I were where Helen lies 95 

John j^nderson my jo, John 169 

Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill 419 

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son ........ 71 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 16 

Let's contend no more, Love 383 

Life! I know not what thou art 181 

Life of Life ! Thy lips enkindle 304 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore 20 

Like to the clear in highest sphere 11 

Love not me for comely grace 87 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours 150 

Many a green isle needs must be • . 314 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings . r 177 

Methinks we do as fretful children do . . 420 

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour 228 

Mine be a cot beside the hill . . . 154 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 451 

PAGE 

Mortality, behold and fear G4 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 300 

Much have I tvavell'd in the realms of gold 182 

Music, when soft voices die 339 

My days among the Dead are past 246 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 269 

My heart leaps up when I behold 333 

My Love in her attire doth show her wit 85 

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow 25 

Mysterious Night ! when our first Parent knew 421 

My thoughts hold mortal strife . . 29 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his .......17 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead ........32 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note ....... . 234 

Not, Celia, that I juster am . 87 

Now the golden Morn aloft ll? 

Now the last day of many days % . 292 

blithe new-comer ! I have heard 268 

Brignall banks are wild and fair 187 

diviner Air • 422 

" dreary life !" we cry, " dreary life !" 367 

Of all the girls that are so smart 136 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 168 

Of Nelson and the North 222 

Friend ! I know not which way I must look 228 

Of this fair volume which we AVorld do name 42 

Oft in the stilly night 243 

Oh, to be in England 373 

Oh, wilt thou have my hand. Dear, to lie along in thine 378 

if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm 16 

listen, listen, ladies gay ........... 255 

lovers' eyes are sharp to see 212 

Marj', at thy window be 161 

Mary, go and call the cattle home 350 

me ! what eyes hath love put in my head ........ 26 

Mistress mine, where are you roaming .18 

my luve's like a red, red rose . . 162 

On a day, alack the day 14 

On a Poet's lips I slept 323 

Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee 227 

One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee 367 

One more Unfortunate ........•••• 249 

never say that I was false of heart 9 

One word is too often profaned • 218 

On Linden, when the sun was low 230 



452 JXDEX OF FIRST LINES. 

PAGE 

pleasant eventide ............. 360 

saw ye bonnie Lesley 161 

say, what is that thing call'd Light 119 

snatch'd away in beauty's bloom 252 

talk not to rac of a name great in story 187 

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd 298 

Over the mountains ............ /^ 

waly waly up the bank 9-i 

what can ail thee, knight-at-arms 208 

wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being 319 

World ! Life ! Time 332 

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day . . 34 

Phoebus, arise .......•••••• 1 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 218 

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth 41 

Proud Maisie is in the wood 248 

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair 72 

Earcly, rarely, comest thou .....«•••.. 244 

King out, wild bells, to the wild sky 423 

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 123 

Say not, the struggle nought availeth 408 

Say over again and yet once over again ........ 379 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 283 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day 13 

Shall I, wasting in despair 91 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways .193 

She is not fair to outward view 192 

She walks in beauty, like the night 191 

She was a phantom of delight 191 

She Avas not as pretty as women I know ........ 386 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea 3 

Since there's no help, come let us kigs and part . 25 

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile ......... 140 

Somewhere or other there must surely be 384 

Souls of Poets dead and gone .......... 247 

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king 1 

Star that bringest home the bee 296 

Stern Daughter of the voice of God 224 

Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind 215 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 82 

Sweet dimness of her loosen'd hair's downfall ....... 377 

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 274 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade 139 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



453 



Swiftly walk over the western wave 



PAGE 

203 



Talve, take those lips away 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense 

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean 

Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind . 

Tell me where is Fancy bred 

Thank God, bless God, all ye vpho suffer not 

That time of year thou uiay'st in me behold 

That which her slender waist confined . 

The blessed damozel lean'd out 

The chrysolites and rubies Bacchus brings 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 

The fancy I had to-day .... 

The forward youth that would nppear . 

The fountains mingle with the river 

The glories of our blood and state 

The gray sea and the long black land . 

The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King 

The lost days of my life until to-day 

The lovely lass o' Inverness . 

The merchant, to secure his treasure 

The more we live, more brief appear 

The poet hath the child's sight in his breast 

The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade 

The rain had fallen, the Poet arose 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 

There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine . 

There is a gurden in her face 

There is sweet music here that softer falls 

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream 

The sea is calm to-night 

The splendor falls on castle walls . 

The sun is warm, the sky is clear . 

The sun upon the lake is low 

The twentieth year is wellnigh past 

The World is too much with us : late and soon 

The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man . 

They that have power to hurt, and will do none 

This is the month, and this the happy morn . 

This Life, which seems so fair 

Three fishers went sailing away to the west . 

Three years she grew in sun and shower 

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream . 

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright 

Timely blossom. Infant fair .... 



away 



4.U INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 

PAGE 

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry 43 

Toll for the Brave 133 

To me, fair friend, you never can be old ........ 10 

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 112 

'Twas on a lofty vase's side 120 

Two Voices arje there, — one is of the Sea 227 

Under the greenwood tree 6 

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying ......... 325 

Victorious men of earth, no more .......... 65 

Availing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea 400 

Waken, lords and ladies gay ........... 261 

AVeary of myself, and sick of asking 366 

AVee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie ......... 152 

AVelcoine, old friend ! These many years ........ 417 

AA''e left hehind the painted buoy . . . . .' . . . . . 345 

AVere I as base as is the lowly plain 17 

AA'e talk'd with open heart, and tongue 328 

AVe walk'd along, while bright and red 326 

AVe watch'd her breathing through the night 255 

AA'^henas in silks my Julia goes 85 

AVhen Britain first at Heaven's command 122 

AVhen do I see thee most, beloved one ? 377 

AVhen first the fiery-mantled Sun 284 

AVhen God at first made Man 69 

AVhen he who adores thee has left but the name 233 

AVhen I am dead, my dearest 393 

AA^hen icicles hang by the wall 18 

AVhen I consider how my light is spent 67 

AVhen I have borne in memory what has tamed ....... 229 

AA'hen I have fears that I may cease to be 214 

AA'hen I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 3 

AA'hen in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes . . . . . . . 9 

AVhen in the chronicle of wasted time ......... 14 

AVhen lovely woman stoops to folly 141 

AA'hen Love with uneonfined wings . 88 

When maidens such as Hester die 253 

AVhen Music, heavenly maid, was young 146 

AVhen Ruth was left half desolate 306 

AVhen the lamp is shatter'd 211 

AVhen the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hamc ...... 164 

AVhen to the sessions of sweet silent thought ....... 20 

AA'hen we two parted ............ 205 

AVhere art thou, my belove son .......... 259 

AVhere lies the land to which the ship would go ...... . 348 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 455 

PAGE 

Where shall the lover rest 207 

Where the remote Bermudas ride 110 

While that the sun with his beams hot 26 

Whoe'er she be 73 

Who taught this pleading to unpractised eyes ? 398 

Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant 205 

Why, Damon, with the forward day 179 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover 89 

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie 198 

AVhy were you born when the snow was falling? 392 

AVith little here to do or see . . . . 282 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 163 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 142 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers ......... 170 

Ye mariners of England ........... 221 

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye 273 

Yet once more, j'e laurels, and once more ........ 59 

You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon 404 

You meaner beauties of the night 78 



THE END. 



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